Hya proved more nimble that she appeared, and in a blink was at the younger woman’s side, her grip strong on Ellonlef’s arm. “You will heed me … at least until we know if he succeeded or not. Sit, break your fast, and wait until Azuri and Hazad bring word.”
Ellonlef reluctantly sat down on the rickety stool she had sat on the night before. Hya jammed a crust of bread into her chilled hands. She nibbled at the bread, but it tasted like dust on her tongue. The wait was long in coming.
An hour after the day had given up its light, and the sun had gone back down, Hazad entered the shop, followed by Azuri. The sun-browned faces of both men held a pinkish cast from the bitter wind. It was not their colored cheeks that drew Ellonlef’s gaze, rather the haunted look in their eyes. She wanted to question them, but the words would not come. In that instant, a hundred possibilities flashed through her mind, each new one worse than the previous.
“Varis tortured Kian near to death,” Hazad said hollowly.
“We have little time,” Azuri added grimly.
“Where is he?” Ellonlef heard herself ask, afraid to know. The answer was beyond her worst fears.
“The Pit,” Azuri said, after Hazad made the attempt and choked on the words. “We have it from men we know and can believe that priests of Attandaeus loaded him into a cart just before dawn, and delivered him to the Pit soon after.”
“Gods good and wise,” Hya rasped.
Ellonlef’s blood went to ice. “We must free him before-”
She cut off, unable to voice the atrocities that he would surely be facing already. The Pit was a place for lawbreakers condemned to death, though not a clean and swift death promised by the headsman’s blade. Those sent to the Pit were unrepentant beasts at the least, and insane, often as not. In that underground warren, in the absence of light, the darkness of their souls compelled them to acts vile beyond words. Most did not survive long-and Kian, doubtless insensible from his wounds, had been there for hours.
“We have a means to get in,” Azuri said hesitantly. “A man who has owed Kian a favor for some years, serves as a guard.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
“You could die … we all could,” Hazad cautioned. “Varis has soldiers scouring the city for all of us. The standing order is to see us to the Pit as soon as we are found.”
Ellonlef did not falter or balk. “Tell me your plan on the way.”
Hya’s face was grim. “Whether he lives or not, you must return here. Like these Izutarians, I know those who walk the shadows, those who can get you out of the city and to safety.”
Ellonlef impulsively hugged the old woman, then followed Hazad and Azuri out into the black alley. The air was colder than any she had ever felt, and low clouds shoved east by strong winds obscured the stars.
“Snow will fall before first light,” Hazad predicted, as they hastened toward the heart of the Chalice, carefully keeping to the deepest shadows. As promised, patrols were out in full force.
“A good snowfall may serve us,” Azuri said. “Folk hereabout have blood thin as wine, and the colder it gets, the less they will want to be away from a warm fire.”
“Then I hope for a storm, even the White Death,” Hazad said.
“What is that?” Ellonlef asked, the mere name chilling her heart. She did not really want to know, but neither did she want a prolonged silence to fill her mind, allowing considerations of what Kian faced.
“The White Death is a fierce storm that blows out of the Whitehold,” Hazad said, creeping along. “Like the godless savages who live in those icy wastes, the storms that come out of their lands are deadly. Winds come first, cold enough to shroud a man in hoarfrost and turn his flesh black. Snow follows, stabbing at you like small daggers, and building to the height of a man. If you are caught outside without shelter, death falls swiftly.”
Ellonlef shivered, trying to reason out how cold could blacken flesh. Distractedly, she noted that the normal crowds of the Chalice had vanished. The only people about besides them and the sporadic mounted patrols, were a few enterprising sorts who had brought wagonloads of wood down from the mountains. Doubtless, they would fetch considerable profits for their effort.
Looking skyward, Ellonlef said, “I’ve heard that the Whitehold is naught but endless plains of ice and snow, even in summer, when the sun never sets.”
“That is true for the far north of Izutar, as well,” Azuri said. “Too, the night of winter lasts months.”
Ellonlef kept any further questions to herself. She simply did not want to hear anymore. And besides, trying not to think about Kian was a useless endeavor.
It took longer to reach Ammathor proper than it should have, for the nearer they came, the more often they had to duck into alleys to avoid soldiers. Ellonlef counted it a blessing that to the last, the soldiers seemed more interested in staying warm than finding their prey, and were generally busy complaining loudly about the cold, and adjusting their thin garb in a vain bid to cover bare skin.
In due course, Azuri turned them into a lightless alley down the road from their destination, and began rooting through a pile of litter. After a moment of searching, he drew out a sackcloth bundle and unrolled it at his feet. In the gloom, Ellonlef could just make out a pair of saffron-trimmed green cloaks of the City Watch and two round, bronze helms, one adorned with a plume of white horse hair, the other bare. A smaller bundle held two thin, wooden dowels, a ball of tacky resin, and a set of wrist shackles linked by a crude chain.
Azuri glanced at Ellonlef regretfully. “To get in, we need a prisoner-one of extreme value.”
Ellonlef held out her hands, pleased they did not shake. “I wish Kian had listened to us, instead of his damnable honor,” she muttered, even as she found her admiration for him growing.
“And if wishes were sheep flop,” Hazad growled not unkindly, “we’d be up to our necks in it.”
Azuri slipped the shackles over her wrists, careful not to scrape her skin. Instead of bolts, he secured the shackles with the small wooden pegs, which in turn were held in place with daubs of resin made pliable by the warmth of his palms. “Do not jiggle these too much, we cannot have them fall off before we need them to.” He looked in her eyes, then spoke with deadly assurance. “And I should warn you, we will give no mercy to those who resist us.”
Ellonlef could only imagine what would come, but had little pity in her heart when she said, “I am ready.”
Azuri donned the garb of a Captain of the City Watch, while Hazad was left with that of a common legionnaire. Lastly, he wrapped his discarded cloak around Ellonlef’s shoulders, the great bulk and length of it ensuring that her sheathed dagger was covered.
“Your costumes are adequate,” Ellonlef said, “but it is quite apparent you are both Izutarians.”
“During your time in Krevar,” Hazad said, “it has become more and more common for Izutarians to serve in the ranks of Aradan’s legions, especially Ammathor’s City Watch. These days, Aradaners simply refuse to take on the mantle of soldiers-especially when our brethren will do it for half wages.”
“Forgive me for any pain you might soon feel,” Azuri said to her, but offered no further explanation.
With her nod of acceptance, he took hold of the back of her neck, drew his sword, and propelled her onto the main road. From there, they moved toward the high stone wall surrounding the grounds guarding the entrance of the Pit. As they walked along, Ellonlef wondered if they would ever get out after they gained entrance. She told herself they would succeed, that all would be well, but she could not quite make herself believe it.
Chapter 40
When they reached the wooden gate that led into the most feared place in Aradan, a grizzled solider opened the peephole and stared out. His fierce countenance fell on Ellonlef, then took in the others.