Bloodsongs (30 page)

The blackness within was complete. Someone struck flint and steel. The sparks were dazzling, and Frost turned her eyes away. Then an orange glow banished the darkness as the naphtha-soaked torch Dromen produced caught fire. He grinned and put the flint and steel back in a pouch on his belt.

The dust was thick enough to choke, but no grain had ever been stored here. Frost turned in a slow circle, arching her neck. The torchlight did not illuminate the highest recesses. “I thought the tunnels were abandoned,” she whispered.

“Not used is not abandoned,” Illstar answered. “I'm sure the governor knows about the tunnels. Otherwise, we'd be ass deep an' more in grain right now. Nobody comes here, though. The tunnels were made a century ago just in case the governor ever needed a hasty exit.” He glanced contemptuously at Telric, then thought better of it. “But Rholaroth has expanded in other directions, an' things around here have been peaceful enough.”

“Count your blessings,” Telric said with a wink.

Dromen snapped barely under his breath, “Eat my dung.”

“So where's the entrance?” Frost interrupted. She saw nothing that looked like a trapdoor, and she had no time to waste while two men exchanged insults. Illstar wasn't a native Keled, anyway. What were old quarrels to him?

The old man walked to the wall opposite the door. He tapped it with his knuckles. “False,” he pronounced. “The trapdoor is just between this an' the real wall.”

She went to his side and rapped experimentally. “How does it open?”

He spat. Apparently, Dromen was feeling more in charge of the situation now that they were off the street. The arrogance showed on his face. “Hell, Captain. Who knows if it opens at all? The wood here is thin. Break your way in.” He folded his arms and stepped back.

She gave him a withering look and was gratified to see a small part of his arrogance fade. Perhaps he was telling the truth. Certainly she spied no seam where a door might slide open or swing upward, but she refused to let this camel turd take pleasure in her confusion. She rapped the wall once more, judging its thickness. Then, gritting her teeth, exhaling hard, she drove her fist through it.

The wood splintered noisily. Carefully, she drew her hand from the jagged hole. Blood trickled down her knuckles, and there was a scratch on the back of her hand where the skin was thinnest. The shock of her punch still shivered through her bones, but she let nothing show on her face. Instead, she leaned forward and calmly wiped the blood on Dromen's tunic. He didn't move, nor did his eyes leave hers while she did it. They reflected his fear.

Telric's boots made short work of the rest of the section.

Frost turned her back on her former sergeant, ducked her head, and stepped inside a narrow cubicle. From the outside of the silo such a small room would be undetectable. The trapdoor took up most of the floor. She bent and lifted it by its heavy metal ring and peered down into darkness. She could barely see the beginning of an old staircase.

“We'll take the torch,” she said. Telric pulled it from Illstar's grasp, then he squeezed in beside her, took the ring, and held the door open for her.

But she moved back to face Dromen again. She reached out to flick a bit of dirt from his shoulder and made a pretense of straightening his garments for him. “If it crosses your mind that I'm becoming bothersome, and if you think you could get rid of me by going straight to the sentries”—
she
smiled maliciously and tugged his beard—“don't. You fought beside me long enough to know me.” She patted his cheek. “Dead or alive, Dromen, I'd come for you.”

He caught her hand and pushed it away. “Just stay away from me, woman. I've paid everythin' I ever owed you now.”

“You owe,” she said with a shake of her head. “anything I care to collect.”

She turned her back to him again and returned to the tunnel entrance. With her foot on the first step she took the torch from Telric. “Tell the nice men good-bye,” she said.

Telric put on a crooked smile. “Good-bye,” he muttered, and he followed her down into the earth.

 

The passage had been designed for a quick escape in times of trouble. There were no confusing side tunnels, no false ways, no traps or barriers. According to Dromen, there were at least five others like it, all providing swift retreat from different parts of the palace. Dromen claimed to know the locations of all of them.

Unless he had lied, this tunnel would take them to the governor's hall, where all state functions were held. Somewhere near the hall they would find the exit from the governor's private quarters.

“What is it you have over that man?” Telric whispered as they crept along.

She led the way around a corner and down a long, straight section. By now, she suspected, they were inside the wall and moving beneath the grounds. She almost imagined she could hear the rhythmic thump of the sentries' feet through the earth.

“Dromen's a superstitious man. He's never quite known whether to fear me or worship me.” She paused and listened as her echoes raced ahead. “Never in his life had he seen a woman use a sword until he signed on with the Korkyran army, and he had a tough time accepting me as his captain. It didn't take long before he challenged me. I humiliated him,” she said lightly, “beat him into the ground without even having to cut him.” She smiled at the memory. “Some men would have hated me for it, but afterward Dromen Illstar was practically my slave.”

She was silent for a moment, savoring remembrances of distant days. “There was another thing, too. Once, a soldier double-crossed me at the expense of numerous men in my command. It was Dromen who tied and held the traitor while I cut off his head.” She stopped abruptly and turned to look at Telric. The torchlight threw strange shadows over his face; she couldn't adequately judge his expression. “Does that bother you?”

The Rholarothan shrugged. “The man betrayed you,” he answered simply.

She nodded, repressing a grim smile. In Telric's land they also would have beheaded the traitor—and then hunted down his family.

“I gave him no trial,” she went on. “It was a field decision. Korkyra was at war with Aleppo, and the soldier's guilt was undeniable.” She bit her lip. Her last word bounced on the walls and faded into the gloom. “But I've never forgotten the look on Dromen's face when he released the headless corpse. He kept looking at the body and at me, and I knew something had been on his mind. He'd always been a bit of a swindler and an opportunist, even then. I recall the thought flickering through my mind as I watched him that maybe he'd considered a similar betrayal. A clever man can make an easy fortune in times of war if he's willing to sell his friends.” She sighed softly and continued up the tunnel. “But if that was in his mind, the execution frightened it out.”

The tunnel made a sudden bend. She took the torch from Telric and lifted it higher, peering ahead. “When we ran into each other in Kyr, I took him to the Broken Sword to share a brew. That incident was one of the first things he brought up.”

The torch revealed a set of stairs at the tunnel's end. She hesitated only briefly, then started up, pressing a finger to her lips for quiet. According to Dromen, this passage went up into the palace and continued behind false walls that were built years ago when Keled-Zaram and Rholaroth had been in constant conflict. She had no way of knowing how thick those walls were or who might be on the other sides of them, so she would risk no more whispering.

She took the steps two at a time and reached the top. She pivoted then to give Telric the benefit of the light and nearly struck him in the face with the fire. He had come noiselessly behind as quickly as she and barely blocked her arm before she burned him. He shook his head sternly, warning against her apology. He also knew they were in the palace, where silence had a new value. He motioned for her to move on.

A little farther ahead they found another flight of steps. They ascended and followed the passage to still another flight. At the top of that, the way ran straight as far as the small torch allowed them to see.

Telric sneezed. The air was stale and smelled of damp must and age. Frost glanced at him, then turned her attention to the floor. In the light of the torch their footsteps showed plainly on the thick carpet of dust, but before them the pounce was undisturbed. No one had walked these corridors in years.

The tunnel ended suddenly. On the terminating wall she found a wooden lever and smiled with satisfaction. Of course, there was no need to disguise it on this side. She passed the torch to Telric and pulled the lever down with both hands. It was stiff, but a section of the wall slid open with a stony rasp.

The heavy folds of a tapestry stirred gently in a sudden draft. Frost eased it aside just enough to peer out, then she let it fall back into place.

“Damn that Dromen Illstar!” she hissed. “That's the governor's hall. We've come too far.” She ground fist and palm together and chewed her lip.

But Telric poked his nose through the open door and around the concealment. Then he peered back down the way they had come. “Illstar only said it was somewhere along here,” he reminded her. “But I think I can help. The governor's private quarters should be back this way.” He began to retrace their steps carefully, running his hand along the wall on his right.

Frost followed him. “How do you know that?”

“A long time ago,” he answered quietly, “I came here with my father on some affair of state. I was quite young, and it was my first taste of the world beyond Shazad. In those days, the governor's rooms were just off the main hall so he could get away for a few moments between his various public duties.”

Frost knew the current governor was young and had taken office since she had arrived, so it couldn't be the man Telric had met. Yet there was every chance the new man would keep the same quarters. Such rooms were always built large and comfortable as suited a nobleman or a member of the royal family.

She grew excited again. They had only to find that room and her plan could still work.

Telric stopped without warning, and she bumped into his back. His hand curled around another lever. With only the flickering torch to guide them, they had passed it without noticing. She wondered how many others they might have passed and cursed herself for carelessness.

This time Telric gave Frost the torch, and he tugged on the device. He stopped before the secret panel had opened even a handsbreadth. Another tapestry concealed the opening. A dim light trickled under the edge and oozed into the passage.

“Someone's home,” she mouthed soundlessly, and Telric nodded.

She pointed and moved a little way down the tunnel while Telric waited. The floor and walls were made of stone; she had no qualms about laying the torch down. It wouldn't do to let its light bleed through the tapestry and give them away, but she didn't want to extinguish it yet. It would come in handy if they had to beat a hasty retreat.

At Telric's side once more, she took a deep breath, drew her sword, and nodded. The Rholarothan leaned on the lever slowly. She prayed the old mechanisms wouldn't grate and warn anyone in the room beyond.

The door opened halfway and jammed. Try as he might, Telric could budge the lever no farther. No matter, she indicated, tugging at his sleeve. It was enough; they could squeeze through. She felt for the edge of the tapestry and eased it back. Several candles burned on a table, but the room was empty. She beckoned to her companion and stepped inside.

Telric stole softly around the left perimeter of the huge chamber. She went to the right. On either side of the room were archways leading to other rooms. They crept soundlessly over the plush carpets, listening for any clue that they were not alone.

A few chairs of antique design and a delicately carved table were the only furnishings. A mirror of burnished copper hung upon the east wall. Frost glanced at herself as she passed by it. She hesitated, winked at her own reflection, and turned away.
No great beauty
, she told herself. But then, she had never been a great beauty.

Telric snapped his fingers just loud enough to attract her attention. He had reached the archway on his side. A nod of his head warned her the room beyond it was occupied. She moved quickly to her own archway and peered around. A glance was enough to tell her it was empty. There was a large door, however, that opened into the palace's main corridor. It was bolted from the inside, though. She wondered if there might be a guard on the other side.

Another soft snap from Telric made her turn. He stood in his archway, gazing into the occupied room without bothering to conceal himself. He looked back over his shoulder, and there was a thin-lipped grin on his face. He crooked a finger.

A couple of easy strides took her to his side. She cracked a smile of her own. It had been as easy as Dromen Illstar had said it would. She might even leave the old thief alone after this.

This was the governor's bedchamber. They crept to opposite sides of the expansive, quilted bed with its high-backed frame and draped veils of transparent gauze. A single fat candle burned away the hours on a slender pedestal in the corner of the room. Its light fell on two sleeping faces and on the exquisitely embroidered coverlet that hid their forms.

Telric raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Slowly, so the steel would not rasp on the leather of the scabbards, they drew their swords.

Frost looked down at the two sleepers. Their arms were wrapped about each other, a lovers' embrace. They lay in peaceful, fitless repose. She despaired of ever knowing that kind of sleep again. Perhaps for that reason she hesitated to wake them.

Telric tilted his head impatiently, waiting for her to make the next move. It was, after all, her plan that had brought them here.

With the point of her sword she indicated one of the two. “Riothamus,” she mouthed. Then she pointed to the other and made a fist over her heart. “The governor.” Her lips moved in the barest whisper.