“Was Har’ith going to see the foreign prisoners?”
Ounyal’am ceased breathing altogether. That was less a question than a statement to be verified.
“I do not know, Counselor,” Nazhif answered. “As I stated, the commander met with the prince in private.”
“You have been most unhelpful,” a’Yamin said quietly, “and I will not forget it, as I am now forced to attend this matter personally.”
Loud footsteps followed and faded. Ounyal’am waited until they were gone before opening the door. For all Nazhif’s calm manner with the counselor, he looked annoyed in silence, which was the same as worried for a seasoned warrior such as him. The other two bodyguards present appeared unsettled. Likely they feared for Fareed and Isa, as did their prince.
“Will he go to the prison directly?” Ounyal’am asked.
The space of two breaths passed before Nazhif shook his head once. “I do not know, my prince, but by now Fareed and Isa should have ...” And he said no more.
Yes, by now the prisoners should be nearing the front entrance. Even if a’Yamin went to the prison and discovered what was left in one of those cells, it would be too late.
Still, if the two bodyguards were somehow caught, and Ounyal’am could be implicated, a’Yamin might decide it was worth the risk to openly accuse him.
Anxiety overwhelmed Ounyal’am. Ever since meeting Ghassan in his adolescence, he had never allowed the counselor a single weapon to use against him. Treason was one of few such effective against an heir to the empire.
Chapter Six
Osha climbed up the back of a two-story building along the main street to the entrance of the imperial grounds. He slipped onto the rooftop and kept low as he crept in behind a wide clay chimney, and then dropped to a crawl around to the chimney’s side facing the grounds. There he settled and pulled his cloak around himself to mute his shape against the rooftop.
He had no wish to be reminded of his anmaglâhk training, though that was what served him now in silence and in the shadow of the chimney under a nearly full moon. Tonight he carried only his longbow, quiver, and the knife he’d acquired in his earliest flight across the world in the company of the tainted greimasg’äh. The quiver over his right shoulder now held seventeen steel-tipped arrows along with the five fletched with the white metal teardrop tips forced upon him by the Chein’âs—the Burning Ones. The seventeen were fletched with black feathers from crows, unlike the five adorned with pinion feathers gifted by a rare black séyilf, one of the Wind-Blown.
A part of him could not help feeling relieved to be doing ... something.
On the previous night Osha had accompanied Wynn as she, Shade, and the undead followed the domin to this same area. They had hidden behind the eatery in this building’s bottom floor and watched the main gate while contriving a plan—or rather a set of options. Nothing that might happen this night was certain. Once they had exhausted the possibilities, Ghassan insisted they return to his sanctuary.
Osha had not slept much since departing the ship, and neither had Wynn. He refrained from suggesting she do so and thereby starting another “spat,” as she would call it. Soon enough, they had both fallen asleep in the back room. Upon waking before dawn, he realized they faced another seemingly endless day of inactivity, trapped in that disturbing set of concealed chambers within the worn tenement.
Chane fell dormant at dawn. Shade paced. The domin somehow managed to keep busy. And Wynn continued to fill her time with meaningless activities.
Osha had kept quiet, watching Wynn throughout the long day.
A thousand unspoken words remained unsaid between them.
At least tonight, the stars once again glinted in a clear sky, and he was again useful to her ... and perhaps to other friends he had thought to never see again. The previous night Wynn had even boasted to the domin about his skills as an archer. It embarrassed him how much this pleased him. In part, he wished he did not care so much about what she thought of him.
Osha regained focus, though he avoided recalculating again every possible outcome for this night. Everyone else had taken their designated positions below, but at the domin’s suggestion Osha had placed himself atop this building in clear sight of the entrance and the street below. If all seemed calm and well when Magiere and the others exited the palace grounds, Wynn alone would go to meet them and lead them quickly out of sight.
In recent times Osha could not remember anything that had gone well or as planned.
Down below and one block up the street, Ghassan and Wynn hid in the next side street. If there was trouble, the domin, being the closest, would assist first, but to Wynn’s—and Osha’s—frustration, he’d never answered concerning how the prisoners were to be freed. Osha knew what this truly meant.
Whatever the domin’s arrangements, Magiere, Léshil, Leanâlhâm, and Chap were not simply being released.
Somewhere across the street and another block closer to the entrance, Chane and Shade hid as well. They were to be the last fallback at ground level should pursuit occur.
And over all of them, Osha would watch and act from above as the others fled.
Everyone was to meet at a halfway point, which Wynn and the domin had chosen—a small area behind a Suman shrine. Osha had no idea who or what was worshipped in that place, but the large building was impossible to miss. The back of it faced an alley that provided a place to hide. Once any pursuit was evaded, everyone could then retreat to the domin’s sanctuary.
In Osha’s days as an anmaglâhk, he had listened, though not contributed, to several like strategies. Tonight’s plan seemed sound by his limited experience, though Wynn had been adamant—especially to Chane—that they avoid killing any of the guards ... and thus add more fury to the urgency to recapture the prisoners.
Osha had agreed with this as well, for in all his life he had never killed anyone.
This was one last vestige of his true self to which he clung as he shifted forward to one knee and slipped his bow off his shoulder and into his left hand. He reached to the quiver over his right shoulder, felt for an arrow’s end without a wrapped thread ridge, and drew it.
Osha nocked a normal steel-tipped arrow and aimed downward, watching for Wynn as much as for anyone exiting the gate.
Dänvârfij had chosen a rooftop four city blocks away from the imperial grounds’ main entrance. Once again, she and Rhysís had watched since late morning, spelling each other for brief rest or the limited nourishment they had brought with them. Her choice for this spot served more than one purpose.
Each day she varied their vantage point, knowing that Brot’ân’duivé was somewhere in the city. Any pattern of habit in surveillance would leave them vulnerable to the traitor. The distance this day did not provide the best view of activity at the gate, but that was not their immediate purpose. She and Rhysís could still spot, track, and capture an imperial guard marked with a gold sash, should one emerge and go off on his own.
Once again not one had come out. After only a two-day vigil she wondered whether they required a new strategy.
Far too much time had passed, and she would face ultimate failure if Léshil and his monster of a mate died beyond her reach. She had failed Most Aged Father in too many ways so far and could not fail in the end.
To return home having utterly failed in her purpose was unthinkable.
Rhysís stiffened upright, lifting his head.
“What?” she asked softly, though she followed his sight line.
All she saw was an empty rooftop with a solid chimney. The subtle motion that pulled her gaze there was a thin smoke trail caught in a bit of light from lanterns hung upon an upper-floor balcony.