He led them back down the hall to another room. They climbed through its tall pointed window. Beyond its ledge was a series of projections, stones carved in the shape of dragon heads, fiends, boars. The adornments had not been spaced to provide for easy Climbing, but a brave or desperate man could ascend them. Fifty feet below them, the surface of the moat glittered dully in the light of torches on the drawbridge. Fortunately, thick black clouds covered the moon and would prevent those below from seeing the climbers.
Kickaha looked down at Wolff, who was clinging to a stone gargoyle, one foot on a snake-head. “Hey, did I forget to tell you that the baron keeps the moat stocked with water-dragons? They’re not very big, only about twenty feet long, and they don’t have any legs. But they’re usually underfed.”
“There are times when I find your humor in bad taste,” Wolff said fiercely. “Get going.”
Kickaha gave a low laugh and continued climbing. Wolff followed, after glancing down to make sure that the Yidshe was doing all right. Kickaha stopped and said, “There’s a window here, but it’s barred. I don’t think there’s anyone inside. It’s dark.”
Kickaha continued climbing. Wolff paused to look inside the window. It was black as the inside of a cave fish’s eye. He reached through the bars and groped around until his fingers closed on a candle. Lifting it carefully so that it would come out of its holder, he passed it through the bars. With one arm hooked around a steel rod, he hung while he fished a match from the little bag on his belt with the other hand.
From above, Kickaha said, “What are you doing?”
Wolff told him, and Kickaha said, “I spoke Chryseis’ name a couple of times. There’s no one in there. Quit wasting time.”
“I want to make sure.”
“You’re too thorough; you pay too much attention to detail. You got to take big cuts if you want to chop down a tree. Come on.”
Not bothering to reply, Wolff struck the match. It flared up and almost went out in the breeze, but he managed to stick it inside the window quickly enough. The flare of light showed a bedroom with no occupant.
“You satisfied?” Kickaha’s voice came, weaker because he was climbing upward. “We got one more chance, the bartizan. If there’s no one . . . Anyway, I don’t know how-ugh!”
Afterwards, Wolff was thankful that he had been so reluctant to give up his hopes that Chryseis would be in the room. He had let the match burn out until it threatened his fingers and only then let go of it. Immediately after that and Kickaha’s muffled exclamation, he was struck by a falling body. The impact felt as if it had almost torn his arm loose from its socket. He gave a grunt that echoed the one from above and hung on with one arm. Kickaha clung to him for several seconds, shivered, then breathed deeply and resumed his climb. Neither said a word about it, but both knew that if it had not been for Wolff’s stubbornness, Kickaha’s fall would also have knocked Wolff from a precarious hold on a gargoyle. Possibly funem Laksfalk would have been dislodged also, for he was directly below Wolff.
The bartizan was a large one. It was about one third of the way up the wall, projected far outward from the wall, and a light fell from its cross-shaped window. The wall a little distance above it was bare of decoration.
An uproar broke loose below and a fainter one within the castle. Wolff stopped to look down toward the drawbridge, thinking that they must have been seen. However, although there were a number of men-at-arms and guests on the drawbridge and the grounds outside, many with torches, not a single one was looking up toward the climbers. They seemed to be searching for someone in the bushes and trees.
He thought that their absence and the body of the guard had been noted. They would have to fight their way out. But let them find Chryseis first and get her loose; then would be time to think of battle.