He leaned forward. “They’ll try to use Padishar to bring us to them because they know we won’t attempt a rescue without bringing the magic along, that we won’t challenge theirs without being able to call on ours. They want that magic—just like they want all the magic—and this is their best chance to get it.”
Chandos frowned. “So you figure it’s the Shadowen that we’ll really be up against?”
Morgan nodded. “It’s been the Shadowen right from the beginning. Teel, Hirehone, the Creepers, Rimmer Dall, the Gnawl, that little girl Par encountered on Toffer Ridge—everywhere we’ve gone, the Shadowen have been there waiting. They control the Federation and the Coalition Council as well; they have to. Of course it’s the Shadowen we’ll be up against.”
“Tell us your plan,” Damson urged quietly.
Morgan leaned back again, folding his arms comfortably. “We go back into Tyrsis through the tunnels—the same way Damson escaped. We dress ourselves in Federation uniforms, just as Padishar did at the Pit. We go up into the city, to the watchtower or prisons or wherever they have Padishar. We enter in broad daylight and set him free. We go in one way and out another. We do it all in a matter of a few minutes.”
Chandos and Damson both stared at him. “That’s it? That’s the whole plan?” Chandos demanded.
“Wait a minute,” Damson interrupted. “Morgan, how do we get back into the tunnels? I can’t remember the way.”
“No, you can’t,” Morgan agreed. “But the Mole can.” He took a deep breath. “This plan depends mostly on him. And you persuading him to help.” He paused, studying her green eyes. “You will have to go back into the city and find him, then come down through the catacombs to lead us in. You will have to find out where Padishar is being held so that we can go right to him. The Mole knows all the secret passageways, all the tunnels that lie beneath the city of Tyrsis. He can find a way for us to go. If we just appear at their door, they won’t have time to stop us. It’s the best chance we have—do what they expect us to do, but not in the way they’re anticipating.”
Chandos shook his head. “I don’t know, Highlander. They know about Damson; they’ll be looking for her.”
Morgan nodded. “But she’s the only one the Mole will trust. She has to go in first, through the gates. I’ll go with her.” He looked at her. “What do you think, Damson Rhee?”
“I think I can do it,” she declared quietly. “And the Mole will help—if they haven’t caught up with him yet.” She frowned doubtfully. “They have to be hunting for him down in those same tunnels we’ll be coming through.”
“But he knows them better than the soldiers do,” Morgan said. “They’ve been trying to catch him for weeks now and haven’t been able to do so. We just need another few days.” He looked at the girl and the big man in turn. “It is the best chance we’re going to get. We have to try.”
Chandos shook his head once more. “How many of us will this take?”
“Two dozen, no more.”
Chandos stared at him, wide-eyed. “Two dozen! Highlander, there’s five thousand Federation soldiers quartered in Tyrsis, and who knows how many Shadowen! Two dozen men won’t stand a chance!”
“We’ll stand a better chance than two hundred—or two thousand, if we had that many to muster, which we don’t, do we?” The big man’s jaw tightened defensively. “Chandos, the smaller the company, the better the chance of hiding it. They’ll be looking for something larger; they’ll expect it. But two dozen men? We can be on top of them before they know who we are. We can disguise two dozen among five thousand a lot more easily than two hundred. Two dozen is all we need if we get close enough.”
“He’s right,” Damson said suddenly. “A large force would be heard in the tunnels. There would be nowhere for them to hide in the city. We can slip two dozen in and hide them until the attempt.” She looked directly at Morgan. “What I don’t know is whether two dozen will be enough to free Padishar when the time comes.”
Morgan met her gaze. “Because of the Shadowen?”
“Yes, because of the Shadowen. We don’t have Par with us this time to keep them at bay.”
“No,” Morgan agreed, “you have me instead.” He reached back over his shoulder, drew out the Sword of Leah, brought it around in front of him, and jammed it dramatically into the earth. It rested there, quivering slightly, polished surface smooth and silver in the starlight. He looked at them. “And I have this.”
“Your talisman,” Chandos muttered in surprise. “I thought it was broken.”
“It was healed when I went north,” Morgan replied softly, seeing Quickening’s face appear and then fade in his mind. “I have the magic back again. It will be enough to withstand the Shadowen.”
Damson glanced from one face to the other, confused. Perhaps Par hadn’t told her about the Sword of Leah. Perhaps he hadn’t had time in the struggle to escape Tyrsis and reach the free-born. And no one knew about Quickening save for Walker Boh.
Morgan did not care to explain, and he did not try. “Can you find the men?” he asked Chandos instead.
The black eyes fixed him. “I can, Highlander. Twenty times that for Padishar Creel.” He paused. “But you’re asking them to place a lot of faith in you.”
Morgan jerked his sword free of the earth and slid it back into its sheath. In the distance, along the bluff edge, free-born patrolled in the darkness. Behind, back against the trees, cooking fires burned low, and the clank and rattle of cookware was beginning to diminish as the meal ended and thoughts turned to sleep. Pipes were lit, small bits of light against the black, fireflies that wavered in the concealment of the trees. The sound of voices was low and easy.
Morgan looked at the big man. “If there were a better choice, Chandos, I would take it gladly.” He held the other’s dark gaze. “What’s it to be, yes or no?”
Chandos looked at Damson, his gold earring a small glitter as his head turned. “What do you say?”
The girl brushed back her fiery hair, the look in her eyes a determined one, edged with flashes of anger and hope. “I say we have to try something or Padishar is lost.” Her face tightened. “If it was us instead of him, wouldn’t he come?”
Chandos rubbed at the scarred remains of his ear. “In your case, he already did, didn’t he?” He shook his head. “Fools to the end, we are,” he muttered to no one in particular. “All of us.” He looked back at Morgan. “All right, Highlander. Two dozen men, myself included. I’ll pick them tonight.”
He rose abruptly. “You’ll want to leave right away, I expect. First light, or as soon thereafter as we can put together supplies for the trip.” He gave Morgan a wry look. “We don’t have to live off the land by any chance, do we, Highlander?”
Morgan and Damson stood up with him. Morgan extended his hand to the free-born. “Thank you, Chandos.”
The big man laughed. “For what? For agreeing to a madman’s scheme?” He clasped Morgan’s hand nevertheless. “Tell you what. If this works, it’ll be me thanking you a dozen times over.”
Muttering, he trudged off toward the cooking fires, carrying his empty plate, shaggy head lowered into his barrel chest. Morgan watched him go, thinking momentarily of times gone by and of places and companions left behind. The thoughts were haunting and filled with regrets for what might have been, and they left him feeling empty and alone.