not to lose his nerve. Despite the disgrace of his vocation, Samlor was a noble
of Cirdon; and there was no one else in his family to whom he could entrust this
responsibility.
There was a sound behind him. Without turning, Samlor lashed out with a boot.
His hobnails ground into something warm and squealing where his eyes saw nothing
at all. He paused for a moment to finger his medallion of Heqt, then continued.
The skittering preceded him at a greater distance.
When the tunnel entered a shelf of rock it broadened suddenly into a low
ceilinged, circular room. Samlor paused. He held his lamp out at arm’s length
and a little back of his line of sight so that the glare would not blind him.
The room was huge and empty, pierced by a score of doorways. Each but the one at
which Samlor stood and one other was closed by an iron grate.
Samlor touched but did not draw his double-edged dagger. ‘I’ll play your silly
game,’ he whispered. Taking short steps, he walked around the circumference of
the room and out the other open door. Another empty passage stretched beyond it.
Licking his lips again, Samlor followed the new tunnel.
The double clang of gratings behind him was not really unexpected. Samlor
waited, poised behind his knife point, but no one came down the stone boring
from either direction. No one and no thing. Samlor resumed walking, the tunnel
curving and perhaps descending slightly with each step. The stone was beginning
to vibrate, a tremor that was too faint to be music.
The passage broadened again. This time the room so formed was not empty. Samlor