in only minutes. No alarm had gone up yet from the watch;
apparently he hadn’t been missed. Maybe they hadn’t bothered
to count the original number of their prisoners, he reasoned.
After all, it had been dark, and the capture had taken place in a
matter of seconds.
At any rate, he was free. So what was he going to do now?
He worked his way back through the park toward the Tyrsian
Way, keeping to the shadows, stopping every few seconds to
listen for the sounds of the pursuit that never came. He was
sweating freely, his tunic sticking to his back, his face streaked
with dust. He was exhilarated by his escape and devastated by
the realization that he didn’t know how to take advantage of it.
There was no help for him in Tyrsis and no help for him without.
He didn’t know who to contact within the city; there was no one
he could afford to trust. And he had no idea how to get back
into the Parma Key. Steff would help if he knew his companions
were in trouble. But how would the Dwarf find out before it was
too late to matter?
The lights of the Way came into view through the trees. Par
stumbled to the edge of the park, close to its western boundaries,
and collapsed in despair against the trunk of an old maple. He
had to do something; he couldn’t just wander about. He brushed
at his face with his sleeve and let his head sink back against the
rough bark. He was suddenly sick and it took every ounce of
willpower he could muster to prevent himself from retching.
He had to get back to Coil and Morgan. He had to find a way
to free them.
Use the wishsong, he thought.
But how?
A Federation patrol came down the Way, boots clumping in
the stillness. Par shrank back into the shadows and waited until
they were out of sight. Then he moved from his cover along the
edge of the park toward a fountain bordering the walk. Once
there, he leaned over and hurriedly splashed water on his hands
and face. The water ran along his skin like liquid silver.
He paused, letting his head sink against his chest. He was
suddenly very tired.
The arm that yanked him around was strong and unyielding,
snapping his head back violently. He found himself face-to-face
with Damson Rhee.
“What happened?” she demanded, her voice low.
Frantically, Par reached for his long knife. But his weapons
were gone, taken by the Federation. He shoved at the girl, trying
to rip free of her grip, but she sidestepped the blow without
effort and kicked him so hard in the stomach that he doubled
over.
“What are you doing, you idiot?” she whispered angrily.
Without waiting for an answer, she hauled him back into the
concealing shadows of the park and threw him to the ground.
“If you try something like that again with me, I will break both
your arms!” she snapped.
Par pulled himself up to a sitting position, still looking for a
way to escape. But she shoved him back against the ground and
crouched close. “Why don’t we try again, my beloved Elf-boy?
Where are the others? What has happened to them?”
Par swallowed against his rage. “The Federation has them!
They were waiting for us. Damson! As if you didn’t know!”
The anger in her eyes was replaced by surprise. “What do
you mean, ‘as if I didn’t know’?”
“They were waiting for us. We never got past the wall. We
were betrayed! The Federation commander told us so! He said
it was one of our own-an outlaw, Damson!” Par was shaking.
Damson Rhee’s gaze was steady. “And you have decided that
it was me, have you. Par Ohmsford?”
Par forced himself up on his elbows. “Who better man you?
You were the only one who knew what we were about-me only
one not taken! No one else knew! If not you, then who could it
possibly have been?”
There was a long silence as they stared at each other in the
dark. The sound of voices nearby grew slowly distinct. Someone