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“Is there a back way out of here?” Cael asked quickly.

“Better than just a way out. Follow me,” she said as she took him by the hand and pulled him against the wall.

Behind their table, an alcove in the false tree wall created a dark niche, in which sat a chair. Alynthia pulled the chair out of the way and stepped into this hollow. “We call this ‘Raistlin’s Niche,’ ” she said. She pressed against a false knot in the wall. The back of the niche opened slightly, revealing a dark room beyond. She pulled Cael through and silently shut the entrance behind them.

They found themselves in a cozy chamber large enough to accommodate three or four people. Alynthia quickly lit a candle, and by its light Cael saw a pair of low beds pushed against the inwardly curving wall. Sacks of dried beans were stacked in the middle of the floor, atop which lay a door that served as a table. Three chairs stood around it, and a fourth was pushed against the opposite wall beneath a small shelf. A bucket beside the chair was filled with stale water, while on the shelf stood a row of bottles, some corked, others obviously empty.

“We can hide here for days, if need be,” Alynthia whispered as she placed the candle in a bronze dish and set it on the table. “But we shan’t need to stay so long. When that cursed Knight is gone, we can be on our way.”

“How will we know?” Cael asked.

“There are peep holes in the wall, here and here,” she said as she pointed out a pair of inconspicuous pinpricks in the wall. Neither hole was at eye level, probably to prevent their casual detection from the opposite side.

Cael stooped over and placed his eye to one of the holes. Through it, he saw the Thorn Knight raise his good hand as though to strike the innkeeper, who cringed and pleaded his innocence. With a wave of disgust, Arach Jannon dismissed the man and ordered his guards to spread out and search the room. One approached the pair of dwarves, who merely shook their heads and continued their conversation, ignoring further attempts to question them. The other Knight prodded those at the bar. Most answered his questions briefly, paid their bills, and quickly exited the inn.

Meanwhile, Sir Arach meandered among the inn’s tables and chairs until he found himself before the long table across from the fireplace.

Cael felt a hand fumble at his sleeve, then tug on it. “I see him!” he whispered in answer to Alynthia’s frantic gestures.

Sir Arach eyed their two mugs of wine, still sitting on the table where they had left them. Slowly, he approached them, then sat down at the table in the very chair that Alynthia had vacated only moments before. He placed his good hand in the seat of Cael’s chair as though feeling for warmth, then returned his attention to their mugs.

“He’s figuring it out!” Alynthia whispered. Cael nodded and gripped his staff.

The Thorn Knight lifted Alynthia’s mug to his nose and inhaled the scent of the wine. His forehead wrinkled into a scowl, as though the smell offended him. He then took a small taste of the wine, turned his head, and spat quickly. Something there caught his attention, for he bent over for some minutes examining the scuffs and dents in the floor’s ancient wooden planks.

Finally, he sat up, a puzzled expression on his face. He glanced around the room as though assuring himself of the fact that there were no other exits. One of the Knights emerged from the kitchen and shook his head at Sir Arach’s inquiring glance. The Thorn Knight sat back in the chair and allowed his gaze to settle once more on the mugs before him.

“Is there a way out of this room?” Cael whispered.

“There is a trapdoor through the roof.”

“You had better open it.”

Sir Arach leaned forward and lifted Cael’s mug from the table. He swirled the golden liquid, watching it thoughtfully. Slowly, a smile bent his thin lips. He called to his guards. They hurried to his side, one of them sheepishly wiping beer froth from his lip.

“Move this table!“ the Thorn Knight ordered. His guard quickly obeyed, shoving aside the table and sending Alynthia’s mug crashing to the floor. Sir Arach then stooped and quickly examined the area of the floor once covered by the table.

Satisfied that no trapdoor let through the floor here, his eyes shot to the roof above them. “Prod it with your spears!” he snapped. “Check for trapdoors. They were here, at this table, only moments ago.”

The Knights stabbed at the thick-beamed ceiling, but discovered nothing. Sir Arach’s gaze drifted to the wall. Cael started back, feeling as though he’d met the Thorn Knight’s probing stare and been discovered. “He knows we are here!” he hissed.

As though to confirm this, the wall thundered under the blows of the Knight’s mailed fists.

“Hurry!” Alynthia whispered. She stood in the chair by the wall, directly beneath a small square opening in the ceiling. “Follow me!” She leaped, caught the edge of the hole, and pulled herself through.

Cael shoved his staff up through the hole. Alynthia caught it, and Cael dragged himself onto the roof just as Raistlin’s Niche burst open and the Knights shoved into the room below. “After them!” Sir Arach screeched, pointing upwards.

Cael reached for the trapdoor to close it. A spear shot up, grazing his arm and rending his sleeve. Fingers appeared on the edge of the hole, and a head struggled upwards. Alynthia kicked the door and leaped atop it. A howl of pain from below brought a fiendish grin to her face.

“This is fun!” she growled as she jumped on the trapdoor, hearing the satisfying crack of snapping finger bones. Freed of its impediment, the door jarred shut. She slid a small bolt home, locking it Spears hammered against it from the underside, rattling the hinges, but for the moment it would hold.

Meanwhile, Cael clambered to the roofs peak. Loosened tiles slid away behind him and shattered on the alley cobblestones below. He waited while Alynthia followed him. She was nimbler than he at rooftop acrobatics and reached his side with hardly a sound.

“Where is your precious Guild now?” Cael asked her as he looked out over the city. To his left, the old city wall curved away towards the waterfront.

Alynthia ignored his comment. “Let’s get off this roof before they surround the building.”

They slid together down the opposite slope of the roof until they reached a brick chimney just at the roofs edge. Alynthia quickly unwound the coil of rope from her pouch and wrapped it around the chimney. She tied it off with a fast sailor’s hitch, then dropped the remaining coils over the edge.

Cael grabbed the rope in one hand, clasped his staff under the other arm, and swung out over the alley. Using his free hand and both feet, he slid down the rope. He was quickly joined by Alynthia, who was just above him.

They had not descended half the distance when a patrol of Knights appeared at the alley’s end. Cael stopped to watch them, but Alynthia, unaware of the danger, continued her descent and bumped into him, nearly knocking him to the ground. He fought to maintain his grip, faltered and fell a few feet, then caught himself by one hand on the sill of an open window. Without thinking, he tossed his staff into the room, then pulled himself up and through.

He regained his footing just as a candle flared. A pair of frightened gray eyes stared at him over the edge of a blanket spread over a small, rickety bed. He began to apologize when the look of fear changed to one of recognition, then surprise.

“Cael?” said a girl’s voice from beneath the blanket. “Cael Ironstaff?”

“At your service,” he answered reflexively. “Do I know you?”

But the blanket flew back, and a chit of a girl, dressed only in a gauzy shift, flew from the bed and wrapped her arms around him. “How ever did you find me?” Claret cried as she squeezed the breath from him. “Oh, it is so romantic of you!”