"I hope we don't have to eat all of these walnuts to survive," Strom said while he and Catrin were returning from one of their many nut-gathering outings, and she admitted that she was dreading the winter as much as he.
Tension grew as the weeks passed, and even Benjin began to show signs of worry. One night he sat them all down around the fire. "Wendel and I made an agreement. If he hadn't joined us within forty days, then I was to sneak back as close to Harborton as I could to see what's going on. I'm going to leave tomorrow before dawn, but I only plan to be gone for four or five days. You all know to remain quiet and stay hidden, keep the fires small, and try not to leave obvious signs of your passage when you're out hunting and gathering," he lectured.
"Maybe I should go with you," Chase offered.
"It'll be a very dangerous task, and I'm more experienced at this kind of thing. I want you all to stay here and continue on as you have been, but be extra careful; you must protect one another."
"What if you don't come back in five or six days?" Osbourne asked, concern written clearly on his face.
"The best thing you can do is keep yourselves safe and carry on as you have been. If you think you've been spotted, or if you need to escape, try to go east. About a half a day's walk from here, there's a large river. Follow the river north. When you reach the waterfall, climb to the top if you can and then follow the valley north by northeast," Benjin said, pausing a moment to look into the troubled faces in front of him to gauge their concern.
"I don't think you'll have any trouble; you're well hidden here. Just remember to stay inside as much as possible and keep quiet. You'll have enough provisions to last through the winter if you use good judgment. Strom, take the first watch and wake Chase for the second. I'm going to need my sleep tonight," he said before retiring to his bedroll.
Catrin and the others exchanged worried glances but didn't speak. They wanted to know what was going on outside their hideaway, but they feared for Benjin's safety. The tension in the cavern was palpable.
Catrin woke in the dead of night to find Benjin already gone. Chase sat near the fire and waved when he saw her sit up, and she joined him by the fire.
"How long ago did he leave?" she asked quietly.
"It's been quite a while. His idea of morning is more like the middle of the night," he replied. He declined her offer to take the rest of the watch, and instead they talked until dawn.
Though most of his wounds had healed, Peten Ross still walked with a limp, and not a moment passed that he did not feel pain. Yet no one showed him the slightest bit of favor or kindness-he was just another refugee, lumped in with commoners and men he wouldn't let shine his boots. The stench alone was enough to make him want to escape, but it was the chance to prove his bravery and worth to Roset and everyone else that was too alluring to resist.
She and the others had shunned him ever since the snake incident. Even knowing the snake was harmless, Peten recoiled from the thought of its touching him. He would prove Roset and the others wrong. While most chose to spend their time wallowing in self-pity, Peten had been looking for a way out. There were too many people confined in the Masterhouse, and he was convinced that Wendel Volker and those who followed him to the cold caves were getting fat on the Ross family's meat. For generations his family had been storing sides of beef in the cold caves, but only now did that practice seem a liability. It infuriated Peten that he should have to endure a strict ration when those who didn't deserve it dined on his food.
Things had seemed hopeless until Peten met a dirty little man whose name he did not remember nor care to know. All that was important was that this man was willing to reveal some of the Masterhouse's secrets for nothing more than a few silvers.
When everyone else was asleep, Peten walked on the tips of his toes over the still bodies that seemed to carpet the cold flagstones. One man cursed him when he stepped on a finger, but no one else seemed to notice or care.
At the entrance to the hall that led to the sacred chambers, those denied to the refugees, a bored-looking guard seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open. It seemed an eternity that Peten waited, but then the moment came: the guard let his eyes droop closed. After waiting for a few more anxious moments, Peten moved as quietly as he could past the guard, his limp making the act of being silent even more difficult. His right foot seemed to want to drag across the stone with every step, and he gritted his teeth against the pain.
Voices carried through the halls, and Peten flattened himself against the corridor wall, feeling exposed and vulnerable.
"… can smell the boiling vermin from here."
"Won't be much longer before that problem is…"
The voices faded and Peten hastily resumed his quest, suddenly panicking, worried he had forgotten what the man told him. Was it left at the fifth hall then right at the third? Or was it the other way around? Sweat dripped into his eyes as he concentrated. Part of him wanted to give up, to go back and hide with his family and friends, but another part seemed to have awakened. He could make a difference. His actions could save countless lives. In his mind he played through the drama and pageantry that he imagined would follow his great victory. His people needed a leader, a person who would take action in the face of death, and he was that leader. All he had to do was prove that to everyone.
With determination, he strode forward as fast as his limp would allow. Following his gut instinct, he turned left when he reached the fifth hall and right at the third. No more voices broke the silence, and finding the room the man had told him about sent Peten's confidence soaring. If only his confidence could defeat the smell, which was worse than the smell of the refugees. The thought of climbing through a sewer made Peten want to wretch, but it was the path to his salvation. Driven by his need for power and a deeper, almost unrecognizable, feeling of responsibility for those he cared about, he entered the sewer.
The journey was something he hoped he could erase from his memory for all time, but he doubted it. At least the man had been true to his word about leaving a torch. Obtaining flint from a fellow refugee had cost him another silver, but it was coin well spent. Without the torch, he would have been lost. When he rounded a corner and saw a splash of dim light illuminating the way ahead, though, he quickly tossed the torch into the fetid water.
When he reached the grate, he nearly wept. Grasping at the bars that blocked his way, he cursed the dirty little scoundrel who had sent him on a fool's quest. Anger boiled in his belly, and he growled in fury. It took every scrap of will he possessed to refrain from crying out, from venting his rage on the heavens. In his anger, his muscles contracted and he could feel the bars digging into his flesh, but then something amazing happened: One of the bars began to move. It was only the slightest movement, but it was enough. Increasing the pressure, Peten began to push and pull on the bar as hard as he could. Mortar fell away in large chunks, and with a suddenness that sent Peten stumbling backward, the bar gave way.
Again Peten had to refrain from crying out as he pushed his way past the remaining bars. Rock and metal bit into his skin and left him with a dozen minor cuts, but he gained the fresh air and his freedom.
The drainage ditch that ran from the mouth of the sewer ended at a small cove so fouled and stagnant that no one would stay near it for long, and Peten decided that it could be no worse than the sewers had been, and it was his best chance to slip into the water undetected.