“Padishar!” he gasped.
The big man wheeled toward the door behind them, but it, too, swung wide, and two more of the black-cloaked monsters appeared. Both ends of the corridor were blocked now, and Par Ohmsford and Padishar Creel were trapped.
“The Mole!” Padishar swore, certain they had been betrayed.
But Par did not hear him. The Seekers rushed to seize them, and the magic of the wishsong exploded in the sound of his warning cry, filling the tower with fury. It enveloped him like a whirlwind, pressing him back against an astonished Padishar. He fought to contain it, but it overpowered him effortlessly. Then it broke away in shards of white-hot fire that flew at the Shadowen. The black figures threw up their arms, but the wishsong’s magic tore through them and they were turned to ash. Par screamed, unable to help himself, and the wishsong broke through the walls like a flood through a dam, shattering mortared seams and blowing holes through the stone. Padishar flinched away, then grabbed at Par in desperation and hauled him bodily through the second door, slamming it shut behind them.
Par dropped to his knees, the wishsong silent once more.
“I... I can’t breathe!” he gasped.
Padishar yanked him to his feet. “Par! Shades, lad! What’s happening to you? What’s wrong?”
Par shook his head in despair. The magic’s evolution continued unchecked within him. Substantive again, not imaginary. Brin’s magic, not Jair’s. A fire he could not control, smoldering, waiting...
His hands clasped the other’s arms and his breath returned, a cooling within that stilled the madness. “Find Damson!” he hissed. “Maybe she’s here, Padishar! Find her!”
There were shouts all about, the cries of Federation soldiers rushing along the ramparts and into the watchtower. Padishar grasped Par’s tunic and dragged the Valeman after him as he hurried along a hall studded with heavy wooden doors, all locked and barred.
“Damson!” the big man called frantically.
Behind them, beyond the door through which they had fled, Par thought he heard the whisper of Shadowen robes.
“They’re coming!” he warned, feeling the heat of the wishsong’s magic beginning to build again.
“Damson!” Padishar Creel howled.
There was a muffled reply from behind one of the doors. Releasing Par, the leader of the free-born rushed on, calling out his daughter’s name. The reply came again, and he skidded to a stop. The broadsword rose and fell, hacking at one of the doors. Shouts rose from a stairwell at the far end of the corridor. Padishar hammered at the door with several jarring strokes, then threw himself at what remained, his shoulder lowered. The door flew off its hinges and Padishar disappeared inside.
Par rushed to the opening and stopped. Padishar was back on his feet, bloodied and dazed, and Damson Rhee was hugging him, red hair dusty and tangled, her pale face smudged with dirt. Her eyes were all fire as they swept up to find the Valeman.
“Par,” she breathed softly, and rushed to hold him.
The hallway behind was filled with the sound of armed men. Par turned to meet the attack, but Padishar Creel was past him in an instant and into the corridor. There was a chilling clash of weapons.
“Par!” the big man called. “Take her and run!”
Without thinking, Par grabbed Damson’s arm and pulled her after him through the door. Padishar stood toe to toe with a knot of Federation soldiers. More appeared in the stairwell beyond. The leader of the free-born threw back the foremost by sheer strength alone and spun about in fury.
“Drat you, boy—run! Now! Remember our agreement!”
Then the soldiers were on him again, and he was fighting for his life. Two went down, then another, but there were more to take their place. Too many, Par thought. Too many to stand against. He felt his chest tighten. He must help his friend. But that would mean using the wishsong’s magic, the fire he could not control. It would mean seeing those men ripped to pieces. It would mean chancing that Padishar would be ripped to pieces as well.
And he had given the big man his promise.
“Padishar,” he heard Damson breathe in his ear and felt her start toward the big man.
Instantly he had hold of her and was dragging her back the way they had come, away from the fighting. He had made his choice. “Par!” she screamed in anger, but he shook his head no. They reached the closed door. Were there Shadowen behind it? Par could not hear them; he could not hear anything above the sounds of the battle behind him.
“We can’t leave him!” Damson was screaming.
He pulled her close. “We have to.” Before him, the wooden door loomed, hiding what lay behind, forbidding and silent. He braced himself, summoning the wishsong’s magic because this time there was no choice. The magic stirred, anxious.
Please, he thought, let me keep control of it just this once!
He flung open the door, ready to send the magic careening down the corridor beyond, white-hot and deadly. Silence greeted him. Moonlight flooded down through cracks in the shattered stone. Debris littered the floor. The passage was empty.
He cast a final look back at the embattled Padishar Creel, a solitary barrier against the flood of Federation soldiers seeking to break past. There was no hope for Padishar, he knew. It had been a trap from the beginning. And the trap was about to close.
Yet there was still time to save Damson.
As they had agreed they would, whatever the cost.
With Damson still clinging to his arm, he charged ahead into the empty corridor, leaving Padishar Creel behind.
Chapter Six
They were through the stairwell door and back out on the landing in seconds. A haze of sound and fury rose from the corridor behind them, where Padishar held the Federation soldiers at bay.
Par wheeled back and kicked the tower door shut.
Which way?
From below, he could hear the thudding of boots and the shouts of men as they ascended the stairs. They could not go down.
“Let go of me!” Damson cried furiously, and yanked free of him. Her green eyes were bright with tears and anger. “You left him!”
Par was barely listening. They had to go up, back the way they had come, back to where the Mole waited. Unless Padishar had been right and the Mole had indeed betrayed them. It was possible. The Mole might have been taken days ago when the Federation had first found them in his lair. But, no, if he had been taken then, he would not have helped them escape when they had fled the gristmill; he would have let the Federation have them and been done with the matter. But what if he had been caught when he had gone in search of Damson this last time—taken and subverted, made over into a Shadowen?
Damson was tearing at him. “We have to go back, Par! He needs us! He’s my father!” Her teeth bared. “He came back for you!”
Par wheeled on her, grasped her arms, and dragged her so close that he could feel the heat of her breath on his face. “I’ll only say this once. I gave him my promise. Whatever else happened, you were to be gotten safely away. He’s given himself up for you, Damson, and it is not going to be for nothing! Now, run!”
He spun her about and shoved her up the stairwell. They raced up the steps, listening to the sounds of pursuit grow closer. Par’s face was grim with purpose. If the Mole had betrayed them, they were finished whichever way they ran. If he had not, then their only chance was to find him.
They reached the next landing, and Par cast about in vain for the hidden door. He could not remember where it was; he hadn’t paid that much attention when he had come through. Now everything looked the same.
“Mole!” he shouted in desperation.
Immediately the wall split apart to his left, and the Mole’s furry face peered out. “Here! Here, lovely Damson!” he called frantically.