'What the hell is going on?' Erys hissed. 'It's the middle of the bloody night!'
'I'll explain while you dress. We've got to do something. Now.'
Erys frowned and passed a hand over his head, breathing out heavily. 'Is this your idea of a hilarious joke?'
'No,' said Yron sharply, dragging the covers from Erys. 'Now get up. And you'd better be able to cast.'
'I'll see what I can do. Never tried it after so much wine.' He sighed and heaved himself from the bed, heading for the wash bowl. He poured a jug of water over his head. 'So what's it all about, Captain?'
Yron told him, and by the time he had dressed Erys looked both awake and stone cold sober.
'You are with me, aren't you?' asked Yron as he walked to Erys's door.
'I can't be a party to genocide, unwitting or not,' said Erys.
'I thought not. Now, Dystran will have taken the thumb to his chambers.'
'You'd better hope not. Have you any idea how many Protectors guard him up there?' Erys jerked a thumb upwards.
'Don't worry about it,' said Yron.
'Don't worry about it? Are you crazy? It only takes one, unless you've got an even better axe arm than I think you have.'
'Just show me the way.'
Erys closed his eyes for a heartbeat and led the way from his chambers into the silence of the Tower. The two men walked back past the banqueting and audience chambers, down the darkened corridors that made up the wide base of the Tower and back towards the main doors.
Before they got there, Erys directed them down a left turn, through a curtained entrance and around another sharp bend and into a small oval chamber. The walls were lined with benches and hung with portraits of Lords of the Mount long dead. Directly ahead of them, in front of an intricately carved heavy wooden door, stood a pair of Protectors, silent and unmoving.
'You'd better be right about this,' said Erys.
'Have faith, boy,' said Yron.
He walked forward, feeling none of the confidence he hoped he was exuding, and stood before the Protectors. For one hideous moment he felt their hostile eyes sizing him up and thought he'd got it all horribly wrong.
'You will not harm him,' said one, and the pair turned away, their backs forming a passage to the now unguarded door.
Yron turned the handle and opened the door inwards, its travel silent on oiled hinges. He beckoned the open-mouthed Erys on and began to climb the spiral stair in front of him. It was carved from a pillar of marble and set on the western side of the Tower's central shaft. Above, six levels ending in Dystran's private chambers. Below, entrance to the catacombs and labs and the passages that criss-crossed under the college.
'How did you organise that?' said Erys.
'I didn't,' said Yron. 'I'll explain later.'
Taking every step gently, his boots ghosting the surface, Yron climbed, refusing to let himself think about where he was or what he was doing. His heart thudded in his chest, his palms were damp and his breathing was shallow and rushed. His limbs were shaking and his muscles felt weak. He forced himself to go on, one step at a time.
They passed level after level. At each one, a Protector stood on a tapestry-hung landing in front of a door to a set of offices, personal audience chambers or guest rooms. Each masked man stood silent, watching them pass and making no move to interfere.
'This is suicide,' whispered Erys.
'And if we don't, it's genocide,' said Yron, pleased at his clever response.
Finally, they stood at Dystran's door and it all came home to him. He, Captain Yron, was about to enter the most private chambers of the Lord of the Mount of Xetesk, Balaia's single most powerful man, and steal a prized treasure. He shuddered the length of his body as the pair of Protectors moved a pace aside to allow him entry.
'Just the thumb,' he whispered. 'Nothing else.'
Centre stage of the big open room was Dystran's curtained bed. To the left, a screened-off washing area, to the right, wardrobe and dressing areas, and at the foot of the bed, the prize. Yron saw it immediately and held out an arm.
'Stay there,' he said, voice barely audible. 'Keep the door open.'
Erys nodded and Yron stepped delicately into the room, his boots soundless on the thick rugs that covered the stone floor. On a table flanked by tall candle stands, on a silk-covered dish, rested the thumb of Yniss.
Sweat ran into Yron's eyes and he wiped it away, smearing his palm against his cloak. He leaned over the table and reached out a quivering hand. He swallowed hard and picked up the fragment, finding its touch cool and comfortable. He took in a grateful breath and slipped it into his pocket. He turned to smile at Erys but the look on the mage's face froze him where he stood.
He was looking to Yron's right. The captain twisted his head as far as he could and peered out of the corner of his eye. The curtains around the bed were moving. A long slender leg appeared, followed by the rest of a naked woman. For two glorious paces, she moved directly towards the screened-off area and then, as if feeling their eyes upon her, she stopped and turned gracefully towards them.
'Oh shit,' breathed Yron, and he moved, fast.
She was going to scream. Reflexively, she covered herself with her hands and arms, drew in breath and opened her mouth wide. Yron's punch took her square on the jaw and she staggered back, falling dazed to thump against the floor, head bouncing on the rugs. She yelped once and lay still.
A groggy voice sounded from inside the curtains and they moved again. Dystran's head appeared. He took in the woman sprawled on the ground and Yron standing over her and very close to him.
'Oh, no,' said Yron.
'What the fu-'
Yron's fist swung again, swiping into the side of Dystran's head. The Lord of the Mount grunted and sprawled but remained conscious.
'Erys, get in here. He needs to sleep very deeply.'
Dystran dragged the curtains aside.
'Guards!' he barked, before Yron got a hand over his mouth.
Erys was casting as he came, Protectors only a couple of paces behind him. A touch from the mage and Dystran stopped struggling and slumped. Yron laid him down gently and faced the two masked warriors, both of whom had axes ready.
'He's not hurt. Just sleeping. Please.'
'Your time is short,' said one. 'Run.'
'See me go,' said Yron. 'Erys.'
Yron sprinted from the chamber, Erys a beat behind him, and clattered down the stairs.
'Erys, which way at the base?'
'Dystran'll have a pulse out. The college will be waking,' said Erys.
'Don't tell me how bad it is; tell me how we get out.'
'Straight through the front of the Tower and head right to the long rooms. Let's go for the west gate.'
Yron nodded. It made sense. They could lose themselves in the artisans' quarter of the city more easily than anywhere else. He leaped the last step, slid by the Protectors in the oval room and kept on going, rounding the bend, tearing the curtain aside and racing towards the front door of the Tower.
As he headed across the marble entrance hall to the door, it opened and a pair of mages strode in. Yron ran straight at them while they dithered, shouldering one aside hard, sending him crashing into a wall. There was a crack behind him as Erys straight-armed the other.
They burst into the night, seeing torches and lanterns waving all over the college grounds as their holders ran towards the Tower. Going right, they raced round the base of the Tower, Erys dragging Yron right again and down the side of the first long room. Erys now leading, they turned behind a lecture theatre, along the side of the refectory and into the press of narrow passageways around the barracks and stables. Beneath a stone stairway to a hayloft, they stopped to catch their breath.