They tiptoed past the barred door, and Garion carefully avoided looking in. At the end of the corridor was a stout oak door bound with iron. Silk ran his fingers around the handle. “It’s locked from the outside,” he said.
“Someone’s coming,” Hettar warned.
There was the tramp of heavy feet on the stone stairs beyond the door, the murmur of voices and a harsh laugh.
Wolf turned quickly to the door of a nearby cell. He touched his fingers to the rusty iron lock, and it clicked smoothly. “In here,” he whispered. They all crowded into the cell, and Wolf pulled the door shut behind them.
“When we’ve got some leisure, I’ll want to talk to you about that,” Silk said.
“You were having such a good time with the locks that I didn’t want to interfere.” Wolf smiled blandly. “Now listen. We’re going to have to deal with these men before they find out that our cells are empty and rouse the whole house.”
“We can do that,” Barak said confidently. They waited.
“They’re opening the door,” Durnik whispered.
“How many are there?” Mandorallen asked.
“I can’t tell.”
“Eight,” Aunt Pol said firmly.
“All right,” Barak decided. “We’ll let them pass and then jump on them from behind. A scream or two won’t matter much in a place like this, but let’s put them down quickly.”
They waited tensely in the darkness of the cell.
“Y’diss says it doesn’t matter if some of them die under the questioning,” one of the men outside said. “The only ones wee have to keep alive are the old man, the woman, and the boy.”
“Let’s kill the big one with the red whiskers then,” other suggested. “He looks like he might be troublesome, and he’s probably too stupid to know anything useful.”
“I want that one,” Barak whispered.
The men in the corridor passed their cell.
“Let’s go,” Barak said.
It was a short, ugly fight. They swarmed over the startled jailers in a savage rush. Three were down before the others fully realized what was happening. One made a startled outcry, dodged past the fight and ran back toward the stairs. Without thinking, Garion dove in front of the running man. Then he rolled, tangling the man’s feet, tripping him up. The guard fell, started to rise, then sagged back down in a limp heap as Silk neatly kicked him just below the ear.
“Are you all right?” Silk asked.
Garion squirmed out from under the unconscious jailer and scrambled to his feet, but the fight was nearly over. Durnik was pounding a stout man’s head against the wall, and Barak was driving his fist into another’s face. Mandorallen was strangling a third, and Hettar stalked a fourth, his hands out. The wide-eyed man cried out once just as Hettar’s hands closed on him. The tall Algar straightened, spun about and slammed the man into the stone wall with terrific force. There was the grating sound of bones breaking, and the man went limp.
“Nice little fight,” Barak said, rubbing his knuckles.
“Entertaining,” Hettar agreed, letting the limp body slide to the floor.
“Are you about through?” Silk demanded hoarsely from the door by the stairs.
“Almost,” Barak said. “Need any help, Durnik?”
Durnik lifted the stout man’s chin and examined the vacant eyes critically. Then he prudently banged the jailer’s head against the wall once more and let him fall.
“Shall we go?” Hettar suggested.
“Might as well,” Barak agreed, surveying the littered corridor.
“The door’s unlocked at the top of the stairs,” Silk said as they joined him, “and the hallway’s empty beyond it. The house seems to be asleep, but let’s be quiet.”
They followed him silently up the stairs. He paused briefly at the door. “Wait here a moment,” he whispered. Then he disappeared, his feet making absolutely no sound. After what seemed a long time, he returned with the weapons the soldiers had taken from them. “I thought we might need these.”
Garion felt much better after he had belted on his sword.
“Let’s go,” Silk said and led them to the end of the hall and around a corner.
“I think I’d like some of the green, Y’diss,” Count Dravor’s voice came from behind a partially open door.
“Certainly, my Lord,” Y’diss said in his sibilant, rasping voice. “The green tastes bad,” Count Dravor said drowsily, “but it gives me such lovely dreams. The red tastes better, but the dreams aren’t so nice.”
“Soon you’ll be ready for the blue, my Lord,” Y’diss promised. There was a faint clink and the sound of liquid being poured into a glass. “Then the yellow, and finally the black. The black’s best of all.”
Silk led them on tiptoe past the half open door. The lock on the outside door yielded quickly to his skill, and they all slipped out into the cool, moonlit night. The stars twinkled overhead, and the air was sweet. “I’ll get the horses,” Hettar said.
“Go with him, Mandorallen,” Wolf said. “We’ll wait over there.” He pointed at the shadowy garden. The two men disappeared around the corner, and the rest of them followed Mister Wolf into the looming shadow of the hedge which surrounded Count Dravor’s garden.
They waited. The night was chilly, and Garion found himself shivering. Then there was a click of a hoof touching a stone, and Hettar and Mandorallen came back, leading the horses.
“We’d better hurry,” Wolf said. “As soon as Dravor drops off to sleep, Y’diss is going to go down to his dungeon and find out that we’ve left. Lead the horses. Let’s get away from the house before we start making any noise.”
They went down through the moonlit garden with the horses trailing along after them until they emerged on the open lawn beyond. They mounted carefully.
“We’d better hurry,” Aunt Pol suggested, glancing back at the house.
“I bought us a little time before I left,” Silk said with a short laugh.
“How’d you manage that?” Barak asked.
“When I went to get our weapons, I also set fire to the kitchen.” Silk smirked. “That will keep their attention for a bit.”
A tendril of smoke rose from the back of the house.
“Very clever,” Aunt Pol said with a certain grudging admiration.
“Why thank you, my Lady.” Silk made a mocking little bow. Mister Wolf chuckled and led them away at an easy trot.
The tendril of smoke at the back of the house became thicker as they rode away, rising black and oily toward the uncaring stars.
Chapter Fifteen
THEY RODE HARD for the next several days, stopping only long enough to rest the horses and catch a few hours’ sleep at infrequent intervals. Garion found that he could doze in his saddle whenever they walked the horses. He found, indeed, that if he were tired enough, he could sleep almost anyplace. One afternoon as they rested from the driving pace Wolf set, he heard Silk talking to the old man and Aunt Pol. Curiosity finally won out over exhaustion, and he roused himself enough to listen.
“I’d still like to know more about Salmissra’s involvement in this,” the little man was saying.
“She’s an opportunist,” Wolf said. “Any time there’s turmoil, she tries to turn it to her own advantage.”
“That means we’ll have to dodge Nyissans as well as Murgos.” Garion opened his eyes. “Why do they call her Eternal Salmissra?” he asked Aunt Pol. “Is she very old?”
“No,” Aunt Pol answered. “The Queens of Nyissa are always named Salmissra, that’s all.”
“Do you know this particular one?”
“I don’t have to,” she told him. “They’re always exactly the same. They all look alike and act alike. If you know one, you know them all.”
“She’s going to be terribly disappointed with Y’diss,” Silk observed, grinning.
“I imagine that Y’diss has taken some quiet, painless way out by now,” Wolf said. “Salmissra grows a bit excessive when she’s irritated.”
“Is she so cruel then?” Garion asked.
“Not cruel exactly,” Wolf explained. “Nyissans admire serpents. If you annoy a snake, he’ll bite you. He’s a simple creature, but very logical. Once he bites you, he doesn’t hold any further grudges.”
“Do we have to talk about snakes?” Silk asked in a pained voice.
“I think the horses are rested now,” Hettar said from behind them. “We can go now.”
They pushed the horses back into a gallop and pounded south toward the broad valley of the Nedrane River and Tol Honeth. The sun turned warm, and the trees along the way were budding in the first days of spring,
The gleaming Imperial City was situated on an island in the middle of the river, and all roads led there. It was clearly visible in the distance as they crested the last ridge and looked down into the fertile valley and it seemed to grow larger with each passing mile as they approached it. It was built entirely of white marble and it dazzled the eye in the midmorning sun. The walls were high and thick, and towers soared above them within the city.