the corner,’ he told the others, leading them round to the east
side.
‘It’s getting lighter, Kalten noted, pointing toward the
horizon.
Sparhawk grunted. ‘We’ll go in through the windows,’ he told
them. ‘We’d just jam up if we tried to go through the doorway
anyhow. Bevier, you and Mirtai go through the one on the far
side of the door. Kalten and I’ll go through the one on this side.
Be careful. Those spears seem to be their primary weapon, so
they’ve probably had lots of training with them. Get in close
and fast. Take them down in a hurry and then block that door
to the guardroom. We’re going to have to hold those stairs,
too.’
‘i’ll do that, Sparhawk,’ Mirtai assured him. ‘You concentrate
on getting our friends out of that cell.’
‘Right,’ he agreed. ‘As soon as they’re free, I’ll unleash the
Bhelliom. That should change the odds up here significantly.’
And then a clear voice raised in aching song that soared out
above the sleeping city.
‘That’s the signal!’ Kalten told them. ‘That’s Alcan! Talen’s
finished up. Let’s go!’
‘You heard him!’ SParhawk said, stePPing back so that Bevier
and Mirtai could get past. ‘i’ll give the word, and we’ll all go in
at the same time!’
Bevier and Mirtai crouched low as they ran past the window
on the near side to take positions under the window beyond
the door. ‘Stay clear of this, Anarae.” Sparhawk murmured to
the invisible Xanetia. ‘It’s not your kind of fight.’ He frowned.
There was no sense of her presence nearby. ‘All right, Kalten,’
he said then, ‘let’s get to work.’
The two of them silently crept forward, swords in hand, to
crouch beneath the broad window. Sparhawk raised slightly to
look along the parapet. Bevier and Mirtai waited tensely under
the far window. He drew in a deep breath and set himself
‘Now!’ he shouted, setting his hand on the window-ledge and
vaulting through into the room.
There had been four Cyrgai inside before. Now there were
ten. ‘They’re changing the guard, Sparhawk!’ Bevier shouted,
swinging his deadly lochaber in both hands.’
They still had the element of surprise, but the situation had
drastically changed. Sparhawk swore and cut down a Cyrgai
carrying a pail of some kind – the captives’ breakfast, most likely.
Then he rushed the four confused guards milling in front of the
cell door. One of them was fighting with the lock while the other
three tried to get into position. They were disciplined, there was
no question about that, and their long spears did raise problems.
Sparhawk swore a savage oath and swung his heavy broadsword,
chopping at the spears. Kalten had moved to one side,
and he was also swinging massive blows at the spears. There
were sounds of fighting coming from the other side of the room,
but Sparhawk was too intent on breaking through to the guard
who was trying to force the cell door, to turn and look.
Two of the spears were broken now, and the Cyrgai had discarded
them and drawn their swords. The third, his spear still
intact, had stepped back to protect the one feverishly struggling
with the lock.
Sparhawk risked a quick glance at the other side of the room,
just in time to see Mirtai lift a struggling guard over her head
and hurl him bodily down the stairs with a great clattering
sound. Two other Cyrgai lay dead or dying nearby. Bevier, even
as he had in Otha’s throne-room in Zemoch, held the door to
the guardroom while Mirtai, like some great, golden cat, savaged
the remaining guards at the top of the stairs. Sparhawk quickly
turned his attention back to the men he faced.
The Cyrgai were indifferent swordsmen, and their oversized
shields seriously hindered their movements. Sparhawk made a
quick feint at the head of one, and the man instinctively raised
his shield. Instantly recovering, Sparhawk drove his sword into
the gleaming breastplate. The Cyrgai cried out and fell back with
blood gushing from the sheared gash in his armor.
It was not enough. The Cyrgai at the cell door had abandoned
his efforts to unlock it and had begun slamming his shoulder
against it. Sparhawk could clearly hear the splintering of wood.
Desperately, he renewed his attack. Once the Cyrgai broke
through that door And
then, without even being forced, the door swung inward.
With a triumphant shout, the Cyrgai who had been battering at
the door drew his sword.
And then he screamed as a new light flooded the room.
Xanetia, blazing like the sun, stood in the doorway with one
deadly hand extended.
The Cyrgai screamed again, falling back, tangling himself in
the struggles of his two comrades. Then he broke free, ran to
the window and plunged through.
He was still running when he went over the balustrade with
a long despairing scream.
The other two Cyrgai at the cell door also fled, scurrying
around the room like frightened mice. ‘Mirtai!’ Sparhawk
roared. ‘Stand clear. Let them go!’
The Atana had just raised another struggling warrior over her
head. She threw him down the stairs and turned sharply. Then
she dodged clear to allow the demoralized Cyrgai to escape.
‘Stand aside, Sir Knight!’ Xanetia commanded Bevier. ‘I will
bar that door, and I do vouchsafe that none shall pass!’
Bevier took one look at her glowing face and stepped away
from the guardroom door.
The Cyrgai inside the room also looked at her, and then they
slammed the door shut.
‘It’s all right now, Ehlana,’ Sparhawk called.
Talen came out first, and his face was pale and shaken. The
boy’s tunic was ripped in several places, and a long, bleeding
scrape on one arm spoke of his struggle to get through the
narrow window. He was staring in awe at Xanetia. ‘She came
through the window in a puff of smoke, Sparhawk!’ he choked.
‘Mist, young Talen,’ Xanetia corrected in a clinical tone. She
was still all aglow and facing the guardroom door. ‘Smoke would
be impractical for human flesh.’
There was a great deal of noise coming from the guardroom.
‘They seem to be moving furniture in there, Sparhawk,’ Bevier
laughed. ‘Piling it against the door, I think.’
Then Alcan came running out of the cell to hurl herself into
Kalten’s arms, and, immediately behind her, Ehlana emerged
from her prison. She was even more pale than usual, and there
were dark circles under her eyes. Her clothing was tattered,
and her head was tightly bound in a bandage-like wimple. ‘Oh,
Sparhawk!’ she cried out in a low voice, holding her arms out
to him. He went to her and enfolded her in a rough embrace.
From far below there came a savage bellow.
‘Anakha!’ Bhelliom’s voice roared in Sparhawk’s mind.
‘Cyrgon hath awakened to his peril! Release me.’
Sparhawk jerked the pouch out from under his tunic and
fumbled with the drawstring.
‘What’s that shouting?’ Talen demanded.
‘Cyrgon knows that we’ve released Ehlana!’ Sparhawk replied
tensely, drawing Kurik’s box out of the pouch. ‘Open!’ he commanded.
The lid raised, and the blue radiance of the Bhelliom blazed
forth. Sparhawk carefully lifted out the jewel.
‘They’re coming up the stairs, Sparhawk.’ Mirtai warned.
‘Get clear!’ he said sharply. ‘Blue Rose!’ he said then. ‘Canst
thou bar the way to our enemies, who even now rush up yon
stairway?’
The Bhelliom did not answer, but the waist-high wall surrounding
the head of the stairs collapsed inward, crashing down
into the stairwell with a great clattering and a billowing cloud
of dust.
‘Advise Aphrael that her mother is safe.’ Bhelliom’s voice was
Crisp. ‘Let the attack begin.’
Sparhawk cast the spell. ‘Aphrael!’ he said sharply. ‘We’ve
got Ehlana. tell the others to move in!’
‘Can Bhelliom break Cyrgon’s illusion?’ she asked in a tone
every bit as crisp as the Sapphire Rose’s had been.
‘Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk said silently, ‘the illusion of Cyrgon
doth still impede the advance of our friends upon the city. Canst
thou dispel it that they may bring their forces to bear upon this
accursed place?’
‘It shall be as thou wouldst have it, my son.’
There was a momentary pause, and then the earth seemed to
shudder slightly, and a vast shimmer ran in waves across the
sky.
From the leprous white temple far below there came a shrill
screech of pain.
‘My goodness,’ Flute said mildly as she suddenly appeared
in the center of the room. ‘i’ve never had a ten-thousand-yearold
spell broken. I’ll bet it hurts like anything. Poor Cyrgon’s
having an absolutely dreBdful night.’
‘The night is not yet over, Child Goddess,’ Bhelliom spoke
through Kalten’s lips. ‘Save thine unseemly gloating until all
danger is past.’
‘Well, really!’
‘Hush, Aphrael. We must look to our defenses, Anakha. What
Cyrgon knoweth, Klael doth also know. The contest is at hand.
We must make ready. ‘
‘Truly,’ Sparhawk agreed. He looked around at his friends.
‘Let’s go,’ he told them. ‘We’ll spread out along the parapet,