The sounds of fighting below seemed far away, surreal. Hunnar himself fairly shot through the opening. September followed close behind. One of the Brothers was wrapped around the big man’s left leg. It took several kicks from its powerful twin to dislodge the persistent scholar. Ethan was still in too much of a daze to ask questions. He glanced around and saw that their company was far from complete.
“Hey, where… where are the others? Milliken and…”
“Our pacific hosts got ’em,” September growled back. “I don’t think for the purposes of advancing the frontiers of beneficent research, either. They nearly got us all. Would have, if Hunnar hadn’t gotten up to put some new wood on the damned fire. So he was awake when the first of them came sneaking in.”
“I don’t understand it,” mused the knight, as stunned as Ethan. “There is no reason for this. They seemed so really decent and—”
“—schizoid,” finished September. “We’ll chat about their unfortunate aberrations later.” He knelt and stuck his head a little ways into the room.
“They’ve gone. I expect they’ll be out on the rooftops after us in a minute. Deity knows they’re more familiar with them than us. Now, there’s only one way down from this rockpile. And while our knowledgeable friends don’t appear to be militarily inclined… witness their performance in that room… sooner or later some bright boy among them’s going to realize that by blocking off the stairway they’ll have us trapped up here.”
The next minutes were a slow-motion dream-scheme of running, hurtling parapets, darting across rooftops, and dropping one level at a time. Hunnar and September assumed the lead. They all had to move fast and carefully. One wrong step in an unfamiliar place and they might step off the side of the mountain.
Ages later the two lead men returned to the group with a sign to keep silent.
“We’re just above the gateway,” September whispered. There’s a single Brother on guard there and he doesn’t look awkwardly tense about things.” Ethan looked past the big man, saw no sign of Sir Hunnar.
A minute later there was a short, sharp whistle from below. They ran to the edge of the building. September didn’t hesitate. He turned, grabbed the coping, and let go. Without thinking, or he might have hesitated, Ethan copied him.
The drop wasn’t bad, and the big man and Hunnar were there to catch him. Suaxus came next, and immediately took up a position next to the closed door. Lanterns burned on either side of the entrance.
Crying mournfully, the slight breeze flowed over the peaks and down into the black abyss.
Carefully, old Eer-Meesach was lowered to the stairs, then Elfa. Budjir hung from the edge for a second and then they were all gathered below. They turned to descend.
Hunnar held back a moment. He picked up the green stone staff of the unconscious brother, stripped off the white robe. Carefully he lifted one of the lanterns from its holder.
Transferring it from the staff to one paw. He whirled it once in a circle, arced it against the wooden door. Flaming oil splattered on the grain, flickered unsteadily for a moment, then sprang up brightly.
“That ought to keep their reasoning minds busy for a while,” he muttered grimly.
They ran as quickly as they dared in the darkness. Eer-Meesach had to be considered, too. The wizard was holding up well under the strain, but there would come a time when his body, no matter how strong his spirit, would fail him.
They made fair speed down the black stairs. Now fully awake, Ethan took a cautious look over the edge. The unending ice sheet shone unreal in the starlight, speckled here and there with ebon spires that were other, friendly islands.
A last glance behind showed a bright glow from the still-burning doorway.
By the time they reached the last stair, Ethan was puffing noticeably. Eer-Meesach, on the other hand, was near collapse. They moved the wizard into the shelter of some big boulders.
Budjir had gone on ahead to the ship. He returned and between gasps told them he’d seen tran moving on board the Slanderscree—and too many of them had beards, wore long robes, and carried green staves.
Simultaneous curses passed among the little assembly. Languages differed but sentiments were identical.
“Not quite as naive as I thought,” September murmured. “Gould you see any of our people, Budjir?”
“Not a one of the crew. They must all be trapped below-decks.”
“Couldn’t have been too hard,” the big man mused. “One man on watch, and him not expecting anything.”
“They couldn’t have overcome the whole crew,” said Ethan in disbelief. “Not with clubs.”
“Hah! I doubt if they even had to hit anybody, except maybe the watch. Quietly bolt all the hatches, what, and keep a look-see for anyone trying to break out elsewhere. Balavere and the rest probably still don’t know what hit ’em. How many’d you spot, Budjir?”
“Eight… perhaps nine. There may be more I did not see.”
“Not likely. That much know-how I don’t credit them with.” September looked thoughtful. “Ta-hoding and his bunch weren’t expecting them. They won’t be expecting us.”
Durnad was the one who noticed the tiny band coming toward the dock. He started. Fully six of the infidels were in the group. They trooped along, heads downcast, with their hands/paws clasped behind their backs. A single Brother followed behind.
“Come here, Brother Tydin.” Another white-robed figure joined Durnad at the head of the landing ramp.
“What, Durnad… oh!” He’d also spotted the approaching procession. “What means this?”
“Hail, Brother!” shouted Durnad. “What has happened at the Home? We saw a great light.”
The Brother’s reply was low, but intelligible.
“All fairs well. These are to be kept aboard their ship until the morrow.”
“That is strange, Brother,” said Tydin, clearly puzzled. The group marched up the ramp. “I had heard that all the infidels were to be dealt with in the great dome this very night. Why do you hide your face? Have you been hurt by these devils?” Tydin took an uncertain step backwards.
“There’s been a change in plans, Brother,” yelled September. He brought his clasped hands around and came down hard with the rock concealed in them. Tydin collapsed without a sound.
“Help, Brothers!” shouted Durnad. “We are tricked!”
As it developed there were nine of the Brotherhood guarding the Slanderscree—less Tydin. The odds were bearable.
The Brothers fought furiously, wielding their clubs and green staves like madmen. You’d have thought they were battling the devil himself. But they were not trained fighters. Without the advantages of surprise and overwhelming numbers, such as they’d possessed in the monastery, they were only a good exercise for the likes of Budjir, Suaxus, and Hunnar. Elfa swung a broken staff with as much skill as any of them.
Ethan used his surprising mass to bowl over a pair of opponents. It would be more even in an honest fight with a knowing tran, but this time the surprise was his. September had thrown one Brother halfway across the deck and was dismantling another like a pale chicken.
Ethan stooped and grabbed up a club dropped by one of the Brothers. His attacker pursued him and swung his staff again. Ethan ducked to one side, rammed the club blunt-end-first into the other’s midsection.
The Brother whoofed and doubled over. Ethan brought the club down hard and whirled to face the next attacker.
There was no next attacker.
Suaxus stood to one side, panting heavily. “What shall we do with them, Sir?” The expression on the squire’s face was typically noncommittal. But if he were asked, Ethan didn’t doubt he’d have a ready suggestion or two.