apparently beneath the ravine. Things of considerable size darted
from the light, and there were streaks of phosphorescence and
dampness in the stone.
They had only gone a short distance when they came to the
cells, a collection oflow-ceilinged cages, not high enough for a
man to stand in, dusty and cobwebbed, the doors constructed
of rusted iron bars. The entire company was crammed into the
first of these, crouched or sitting on a stone slab floor. Eyes
blinked in disbelief, widened as the lie of the magic played hide-
and-seek with the truth. Coil knew what was going on. He was
already on his feet, pushing to the door, motioning the others
up with him. Even Padishar obeyed the gesture, realizing what
was about to happen.
“Open the door,” Damson ordered.
Again, the eyes of the Federation commander registered his
misgivings.
“Open the door. Commander,” Damson repeated impa-
tiently. “Now!”
The commander fumbled for a second key within the cluster
at his belt, inserted it into the lock and tamed. The cell door
swung open. Instantly, Padishar Creel had the astonished man’s
neck in his hands, tightening his grip until the other could
scarcely breathe. The watch officer stumbled back, tamed, tried
unsuccessfully to run over Par, was caught from behind by Mor-
gan, and hammered into unconsciousness.
The prisoners crowded into the narrow passageway, greeting
Par and Damson with handclasps and smiles. Padishar paid them
no heed. His attention was focused entirely on the hapless Fed-
eration commander.
“Who betrayed us?” he said with an impatient hiss.
The commander struggled to free himself, his face taming
bright red from the pressure on his throat.
“It was one of us, you said! Who?”
The commander choked. “Don’t. . . know. Never saw . . .”
Padishar shook him. “Don’t lie to me!”
“Never . . . Just a … message.”
“Who was it?” Padishar insisted, the cords on the back of
his hands gone white and hard.
The terrified man kicked out violently, and Padishar slammed
his head sharply against the stone wall. The commander went
limp, sagging like a rag doll.
Damson pulled Padishar about. “Enough of this,” she said
evenly, ignoring the fury that still burned in the other’s eyes.
“We’re wasting time. He clearly doesn’t know. Let’s get out of
here. There’s been enough risk-taking for one day.”
The outlaw chief studied her wordlessly for a moment, then
let the unconscious man drop. “I’ll find out anyway, I promise
you,” he swore.
Par had never seen anyone so angry. But Damson ignored it.
She tamed and motioned for Par to get moving. The Valeman
led the way back up the stairwell, the others trailing behind him
in a staggered line. They had devised no plan for getting out
again when they had made the decision to come after their
friends. They had decided mat it would be best simply to take
what opportunity offered and make do.
Opportunity gave them everything they needed this night
The wardroom was empty when they reached it, and they movec
swiftly to pass through. Only Morgan paused, rummaging.
through the weapons racks until he had located the confiscatec
Sword of Leah. Smiling grimly, he strapped it across his bad
and went after the others.
Their luck held. The guards outside were overpowered before
they knew what was happening. All about, the night was silent,
the park empty, the patrols still completing their rounds, the city
asleep. The members of the little band melted into the shadows
and vanished.
As they hurried away. Damson swung Par around and gave
him a brilliant smile and a kiss full on the mouth. The kiss was
hungry and filled with promise.
Later, when there was time to reflect. Par Ohmsford savored
that moment. Yet it was not Damson’s kiss that he remembered
most from the events of that night. It was the fact that the magic
of the wishsong had proved useful at last.
The druid history became for Walker Boh a challenge
that he was determined to win.
For three days after Cogline’s departure, Walker ig-
nored the book. He left it on the dining table, still settled amid
its oilcloth wrappings and broken binding cord, its burnished