Unbidden, an image of golden hair in the moonlight came to him. It occurred to him that this world did have its attractions.
Shivering, he reminded himself that he had also received a warning of imminent torture only a couple of hours before. Tatir had its drawbacks, too.
Stivyung Sigel hadn’t called for relief yet. He worked with a fevered intensity that put Dennis a little in awe, Dennis looked up to see what kind of progress the farmer was making.
He stared in amazement. The saw had already cut almost half of the way down! How...?
He looked back at Sigel and rubbed his eyes. It had to be the darkness, but somehow it seemed that the air around the farmer shimmered faintly. It was as if little eddies of air were churning all around him. Dennis turned to Gath to ask if he saw it too.
The young maker did indeed see it. He stared at Sigel, utterly awed, as did Mishwa, the other thief with them.
“What is it?” Dennis whispered urgently. “What’s happening?”
Without taking his eyes away, Gath answered. “It’s a true felthesh trance! They say a person’s lucky to witness one once in a lifetime!”
Dennis looked back at Sigel. The man worked with demoniacal intensity, his arms pumping back and forth a blur. As they watched, the faint luminescence that surrounded him seemed to climb up the narrow thread of floss, like sparkling ionization around a high-voltage line.
Whatever mysterious thing a “felthesh trance” was, he could see that Sigel and the saw were playing havoc with the stockade bindings. A faint rain of dust fell from the growing gaps on either side of the palisade log.
Dennis found it awesome, indeed. But more immediately, he was concerned that the guards would notice this phenomenon!
Dennis decided it was time to hurry things along a bit.
He motioned to the thief, Mishwa Qan. The prisoner was a giant—larger, even, than Gilm the guard. Mishwa grinned and rose to his feet gracefully. At Dennis’s beckoning he crouched at the base of the wall, braced his back against the log, and pushed. The bindings groaned slightly.
Sigel worked on without pause, without asking for relief.
By now the saw had almost descended to man height but was starting to slow down. The stockade had had more wall practice at this level and was tougher.
Mishwa grunted and pushed again. The log complained softly, then tilted outward a little as its own weight began to help.
Dennis motioned for Gath to help Mishwa. Soon both were puffing together as the log groaned again.
It tipped a little farther, and then Dennis suddenly saw something that made him start. Something was moving upon the jagged rim of the palisade!
A dark figure—a little larger than a big bullfrog—bent over the growing opening and looked down at the faintly glowing zipper-saw as it cut. The nimbus of Sigel’s “felthesh trance” seemed to wash over it, enveloping both the creature and the saw in a soft glow.
Green eyes glowed in the dark. Sharp little teeth flashed in amusement.
Dennis shook his head. “Pix, you blasted voyeur. Now you choose to show up! When’ll you ever do anybody any good, hmm?”
He turned and rejoined the others, straining against the massive log. Every time it shifted, it made a racket that Dennis imagined could be heard across the valley.
Arth hurried over from his watch position. “I think they heard something,” the thief whispered. “Should we shut down for a while?”
Dennis looked at the log. Stars shone through the gap. On Stivyung Sigel’s face was a fierce, luminous expression that made Dennis feel a chill. The farmer’s arms were a blur and the saw gave off an almost continuous quiet whir.
Dennis didn’t dare disturb Sigel. He shook his head. “We can’t. It’s all or nothing! If the guards come you’ve got to distract them!”
Arth nodded curtly and hurried away. Between heaves Dennis glanced up at the needle grin that told him the pixolet was still there, watching their struggle. Enjoy, he wished at the creature and joined in another push.
The log groaned, this time really loud. There came a yell from the compound behind them—a commotion of shadows back at the barracks. Then there were screams and shouts coming from almost everywhere.
“Hard!” he urged. They all knew they had very little time left.
Mishwa Qan bawled and battered against the barrier between himself and freedom. Gath and Dennis were thrown aside.
Flames flickered in the barracks shed. Arth’s distraction had begun. Shadows moved in front of the fire. Clubs were raised high as guards and frantic prisoners struggled. High above, in the castle, an alarm gong started clanging. Out of the shadows the thieves, Arth and Perth, appeared suddenly. The small man panted. “I bought us maybe two hunnerd heartbeats, Denniz. No more.”
The log moaned again, like some animal dying, as it tipped another ten degrees. “Make that one hunnerd beats,” Arth said dryly.
Sigel hunched over and the saw sang an even higher tune. The man seemed enveloped in turbulence, and flakes of light fell from the floss cable.
Mishwa Qan stepped back about twenty feet, scuffed his feet, and let out a fierce ululation as he charged the teetering log. It toppled with a crash, and suddenly there was an opening before them. The sound carried through the night. There was no mistaking the reaction of the guards. They turned from the fire and riot and shouted to each other, pointing toward Dennis and his comrades.
Sigel stared in exhaustion at his handiwork, his hands fallen limply to his sides. The man looked spent, but his eyes were exalted.
Three guards charged out of the flickering light from the sheds, truncheons high. Suddenly a shadow on the ground rose up slightly, just high enough to trip one of them. Arth snagged the left foot of another running guard, sending that one, too, sprawling.
The third came at Dennis, uttering a fierce battle yell.
“Aw, hell,” Dennis sighed. He caught the upraised club arm and punched the guard in the nose. The soldier’s feet flew out from under him and he landed flat on his back, knocking the wind from him.
More guards were coming. Dennis felt a whipping breeze as Arth sped past him.
“Let’s go!” Dennis shouted at Sigel and dragged the farmer toward the narrow portal to freedom.
A spear thunked into the wall near them. Stivyung shook himself, then grinned at Dennis and nodded. Together they scrambled through the opening and out into the night.
As they made their escape, Dennis caught a glimpse of something that glittered, like a necklace of diamonds in the starlight, half protruding from under the fallen log.
They did not tarry, though, and soon he and Sigel were dodging through the alleys of Zuslik, their pursuers behind them.
6. Ballon d’Essai
1
Lantern-semaphore signals flashed from the castle to all gates. Guard details were doubled, and every person trying to leave the city was thoroughly searched. High overhead, members of the overlord’s aerial patrol scoured the surrounding area until dark, when they had to land.
“The Baron never put up a fuss like this before when someone got away from him. Not that he ever took it gracefully, but why the big manhunt this time?”
The one-eyed thief, Perth, looked out from an upper-story window in one of Zuslik’s newer—and hence shabbier—high-rises. He was disturbed by the flashing lights and the passing troops of marching northmen in their high, bearskin helmets.
Arth, the small bandit leader, motioned his associate away from the window. “They’ll never find us here. Since when ’ave Kremer’s northers ever picked out a single one of our hidey holes? Close the shutters an’ sit down, Perth.”