soldiers had lamplight reflecting all about them and could not
see outside its glow to the figures lost in the dark beyond. Pad-
ishar took the company swiftly through the deserted park, west
to where the ravine approached its juncture with the cliffs. There,
he settled them in to wait.
Par crouched motionlessly in the dark and listened to the
sound of his heart pumping in his ears. The silence about him
was filled with the hum of insects. Locusts buzzed in raucous
cadence in the black. The seven men were concealed in a mass
of thicket, invisible to anyone without. But anyone beyond their
concealment was invisible to them as well. Par was uneasy with
their placement and wondered at its choice. He glanced at
Padishar Creel, but the outlaw chief was busy overseeing the
untangling of the rope ladder that would lower them into die
ravine. . .
Par hesitated. The Pit Lower them into me Pit. He forced
himself to say tie word.
He took a deep bream, trying to steady himself. He wondered
if Damson Rhee was anywhere close:
A patrol of four Federation soldiers materialized out of the
dark almost directly in front of them, walking the perimeter of
the wall. Though the sound of their boots warned of their com-
ing, it was chilling when they appeared, nevertheless. Par and
the others flattened themselves in the scratchy tangle of their
concealment. The soldiers paused, spoke quietly among them-
selves for a moment, then turned back the way they had come,
and were gone.
Par exhaled slowly. He risked a quick glance over at the dark
bowl of the ravine. It was a soundless, depthless well of ink.
Padishar and the other outlaws were fixing the rope ladder in
place, preparing for the descent. Par came to his feet, eager to
relieve the muscles that were beginning to cramp, anxious to be
done with this whole business. He should have felt confident.
He did not. He was growing steadily more uneasy and he
couldn’t say why. Something was tugging at him frantically,
warning him, some sixth sense that he couldn’t identify.
He thought he heard something-not ahead in the ravine, but
behind in the park. He started to turn, his sharp Elf eyes search-
ing.
Then abruptly there was a flurry of shouts from the direction
of the Gatehouse, and cries of alarm pierced the night.
“Now!” Padishar Creel urged, and they bolted their cover
for the wall.
The ladder was already knotted in place, tied down to a pair
of the wall spikes. Quickly, they lowered it into the black. Ciba
Blue went over first, the cobalt birthmark on his cheek a dark,
hollow place in the moonlight. He tested the ladder first with
his weight, then disappeared from view.
“Remember, listen for my signal,” Padishar was saying hur-
riedly to Stasas and Drutt, his voice a rough whisper above the
distant shouts.
He was turning to start Par down the ladder after Ciba Blue
when a swarm of Federation soldiers appeared out of the dark
behind them, armed with spears and crossbows, silent figures
that seemed to come from nowhere. Everyone froze. Par felt his
stomach lurch with shock. He found himself thinking,”I should
have known, I should have sensed them,” and thinking in the
next breath that indeed he had.
“Lay down your weapons,” a voice commanded.
For just an instant. Par was afraid that Padishar Creel would
choose to fight rather than surrender. The outlaw chiefs eyes
darted left and right, his tall form rigid. But the odds were over-
whelming. His face relaxed, he gave a barely perceptible smile,
and dropped his sword and long knife in front of him wordlessly.
The others of the little company did the same, and the Federa-
tion soldiers closed about. Weapons were scooped up and arms
bound behind backs.
“There’s another of them down in the Pit,” a soldier advised
the leader of their captors, a smallish man with short-cropped
hair and commander’s bars on his dark tunic.
The commander glanced over. “Cut the ropes, let him drop.”
The rope ladder was cut through in a moment. It fell sound-
lessly into the black. Par waited for a cry, but there was none.