Then they were up and moving. They crossed into the circle of light boldly, striding out of the shadows as if they were at home in them, coming toward the Gatehouse from the direction of the city. Par was already singing, weaving the wishsong’s spell through the night’s stillness, filling the minds of the watch with the images he wished them to see.
What they saw were two Seekers cloaked in forbidding black, the taller of the two First Seeker Rimmer Dall.
They snapped to attention immediately, eyes forward, barely looking at the two who approached Par kept his voice even, the magic weaving a constant spell of disguise in the minds of the willing men.
“Open!” Damson Rhee snapped perfunctorily as they reached the Gatehouse entry.
The guards could not comply quickly enough. They pulled back the hinged grate, released the outer locks and hammered anxiously on the doors to alert the guards within. A tiny door opened and Par shifted the focus of his concentration slightly. Bleary eyes peered out in grouchy curiosity, widened, and the locks released. The doors swung back, and Par and Damson pushed inside.
They stood in a wardroom filled with weapons stacked in wall racks and stunned Federation soldiers. The soldiers had been playing cards and drinking, clearly convinced the night’s excitement was over. They were caught off guard by the appearance of the Seekers and it showed. Par filled the room with the faint hum of the wishsong, blanketing it momentarily with his magic. It took everything he had.
Damson understood how tenuous was his hold. “Everyone out!” she ordered, her voice flinty with anger.
The room emptied instantly. The entire squad dispersed through adjoining doors and disappeared as if formed of smoke. One guard remained, apparently the senior watch officer. He stood uncertainly, stiffly, eyes averted, wishing he were anywhere else but where he was, yet unable to go.
“Take us to the prisoners,” Damson said softly, standing at the man’s left shoulder.
The soldier cleared his throat after trying futilely to speak. “I’ll need my commander’s permission,” he ventured. Some small sense of responsibility for his assigned duty yet remained to him.
Damson kept her eyes fixed on the man’s ear, forcing him thereby to look elsewhere. “Where is your commander?” she asked.
“Sleeping below,” the man answered. “I’ll wake him.”
“No.” Damson stayed his effort to depart. “We’ll wake him together.”
They went through a heavily bolted door directly across the room and started down a stairwell dimly lit by oil lamps. Par kept the wishsong’s music lingering in the frightened guard’s ears, teasing him with it, letting him see them as much bigger than life and much more threatening. It was all going as planned, the charade working exactly as Damson and he had hoped. Down the empty stairs they went, circling from landing to landing, the thudding of their boots the only sound in the hollow silence. At the bottom of the well there were two doors. The one on the left was open and led into a lighted corridor. The guard took them through that door to another, stopped and knocked. When there was no response, he knocked again, sharply.
“What is it, drat you?” a voice snapped.
“Open up at once, Commander!” Damson replied in a voice so cold it made even Par shiver.
There was a fumbling about and the door opened. The Federation commander with the short-cropped hair and the unpleasant eyes stood there, his tunic half buttoned. Shock registered on his face instantly as the wishsong’s magic took hold. He saw the Seekers. Worse, he saw Rimmer Dall.
He gave up trying to button his clothing and came quickly into the hall. “I didn’t expect anyone this soon. I’m sorry. Is there a problem?”
“We’ll discuss it later, Commander,” Damson said severely. “For now, take us to the prisoners.”
For just an instant there was a flicker of doubt in the other man’s eyes, a shading of worry that perhaps everything was not quite right. Par tightened the hold of the magic on the man’s mind, giving him a glimpse of the terror that awaited him should he question the order. That glimpse was enough. The commander hastened back down the corridor to the stairwell, produced a key from a ring at his waist, and opened the second door.
They stepped into a passageway lit by a single lamp hung next to the door. The commander took the lamp in hand and led the way forward. Damson followed. Par motioned the watch officer ahead of him and brought up the rear. His voice was beginning to grow weary from the effort of maintaining the charade. It was more difficult to project to several different points. He should have sent the second man away.
The passageway was constructed of stone block and smelled of mold and decay. Par realized that they were underground, apparently beneath the ravine. Things of considerable size darted from the light, and there were streaks of phosphorescence and dampness in the stone.
They had only gone a short distance when they came to the cells. They were low-ceilinged cages, not high enough for a man to stand in, dusty and cobwebbed, the doors constructed of rusted iron bars. The entire company was crammed into the first of these, crouched or sitting on a stone slab floor. Eyes blinked in disbelief, widened as the lie of the magic played hide-and-seek with the truth. Coll knew what was going on. He was already on his feet, pushing to the door, motioning the others up with him. Even Padishar obeyed the gesture, realizing what was about to happen.
“Open the door,” Damson ordered.
Again, the eyes of the Federation commander registered his misgivings.
“Open the door, Commander,” Damson repeated impatiently. “Now!”
The commander fumbled for a second key within the cluster at his belt, inserted it into the lock and turned. The cell door swung open. Instantly, Padishar Creel had the astonished man’s neck in his hands, tightening his grip until the other could scarcely breathe. The watch officer stumbled back, turned, tried unsuccessfully to run over Par, was caught from behind by Morgan, and hammered into unconsciousness.
The prisoners crowded into the narrow passageway, greeting Par and Damson with handclasps and smiles. Padishar paid them no heed. His attention was focused entirely on the hapless Federation commander.
“Who betrayed us?” he said with an impatient hiss.
The commander struggled to free himself, his face turning bright red from the pressure on his throat.
“It was one of us, you said! Who?”
The commander choked. “Don’t... know. Never saw...”
Padishar shook him. “Don’t lie to me!” “Never... Just a... message.”
“Who was it?” Padishar insisted, the cords on the back of his hands gone white and hard.
The terrified man kicked out violently, and Padishar slammed his head sharply against the stone wall. The commander went limp, sagging like a rag doll.
Damson pulled Padishar about. “Enough of this,” she said evenly, ignoring the fury that still burned in the other’s eyes. “We’re wasting time. He clearly doesn’t know. Let’s get out of here. There’s been enough risk-taking for one day.”
The outlaw chief studied her wordlessly for a moment, then let the unconscious man drop. “I’ll find out anyway, I promise you,” he swore.
Par had never seen anyone so angry. But Damson ignored it. She turned and motioned for Par to get moving. The Valeman led the way back up the stairwell, the others trailing behind him in a staggered line. They had devised no plan for getting out again when they had made the decision to come after their friends. They had decided that it would be best simply to take what opportunity offered and make do.
Opportunity gave them everything they needed this night. The wardroom was empty when they reached it, and they moved swiftly to pass through. Only Morgan paused, rummaging through the weapons rack until hp had located the confiscated Sword of Leah. Smiling grimly, he strapped it across his back and went after the others.