She made a growling sound but nodded in agreement.
“Go get the others; badger the priests until they let you in,” he urged. “Send them after me. Now, I’ve got to go!”
He was already wearing the best possible clothing for night prowling; his guise of Hawkwind, black-on-black.
She clicked her beak in anxiety for a moment, then appeared to make up her mind, and rushed out the door.
He didn’t bother with the door; perhaps he wasn’t a fighter, but he hadn’t been spending all these years helping to build White Gryphon without learning some rather odd skills for a kestra’chern.
I will not think about this, only do it.
He had a balcony, and it was a lot faster to get to the ground by sliding down the spiral support poles.
And what was more—if their enemies were watching the door, they’d never see him leave.
He went over the balcony railing and hung by his fingertips for a moment, as he felt for the support pole with his feet. In a moment, he had it; he wrapped his legs around it and let go of the railing, sliding down the pole like a naughty boy fleeing confinement to his room.
Except that, unlike the boy, he had no sense of exhilaration. His muscles all shivered, and his heart beat double-time with fear and tension. He was only too aware that he was one man, alone, and that this course was madness.
A moment later, he was crouched in the shadow of the bushes at the foot of the pole, listening for the sounds of anyone else out in the garden. I suppose I could have dropped straight down; one story isn’t too far to fall. Yes, but if I’d broken an ankle, I wouldn’t be able to do Skan much good now, would I?
He felt the stir of the night breeze against his skin with unnatural clarity. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t anyone nearby on the grounds. That was the way it should be; everyone of any consequence was in the various cleansing ceremonies, and the only people who were excused from the ceremonies were the sick, the injured, the mad (like Amberdrake), and those whose duties forced them to work, like the guards and some of the servants, and probably less than a third of those. This was the quietest the Palace had ever been. Lights were going out in every direction he looked, as servants went from room to deserted room, extinguishing them, in preparation for the Ceremony.
In this case, the best way to be inconspicuous—if a man with a face as pale as his ever would be inconspicuous here—would be to act as if he was going somewhere on orders. So once he made certain there was no one in the immediate area watching him, he stood up, straightened his tunic, and set off for the Hall of Fragrant Joy at a fast walk.
He felt as if there were hundreds of eyes on him, and the skin of his back prickled, as if anticipating an arrow. He wanted to run, but that was hardly the way to remain inconspicuous. No one ran, here. It simply wasn’t done.
He couldn’t have run in any case; the path was visible only because it was white gravel in the midst of dark green grass. If he tried to run, he’d probably fall and break his neck.
Oh, this is bright, Drake. You’re going off by yourself, without any reinforcements. You’ve assumed that Skan will be alone and relatively unguarded, but you can’t be sure of that, now, can you? So you’re going off to play the hero, and you aren’t exactly suited to the role, you know! And what are you going to do when you get there and find out that Skan isn’t alone, hmm? Try and talk your way out of it? I don’t think anyone is going to believe you just went out for a stroll and happened to show up where he’s being held! And with a pale face like yours, you aren’t going to pass for Haighlei!
The internal voice did nothing to still the fear; not even clenching his hands into fists kept them from shaking.
Buildings loomed all around him, poking up above the carefully sculptured foliage of the grounds, dark and lifeless. There wasn’t a hint of the sounds that usually filled the night here; no music, no conversation, nothing. Just lightless buildings, with the star-filled sky up ahead, and the white of the path barely discernible in the heavy, flower-scented dark. He couldn’t even make out much beyond the bare shape of the bushes and trees beside the path.
Thank you so much, Skan, for running off and not taking anyone to back you up. Even leaving Aubri up on a rooftop while you played mighty warrior would have been enough! Now you’re in trouble and I’m running to your rescue like the fool I am. In the dark. Alone. Oh, brilliant, Amberdrake.
This was as close to being blind as he cared to go, and it took all of his concentration to keep from stumbling over uneven places in the dark.
Which was precisely why, when a shadow separated itself from the trunk of a tree overhanging the path and flung itself at him, he didn’t have any time to react.
And he didn’t even feel the blow to his head that sent him into unconsciousness; there was only a sense of timelessness where awareness should have been.
His head hurt—
It throbbed, horribly, with every beat of his heart. His stomach turned over and there was a taste of blood and something bitter in his mouth. His lower lip stung; he tested it with his tongue, finding more blood, finding it swollen and cut.
His arms were twisted under him and behind his back in an awfully odd pose. He groaned, and tried to roll over. What had he done last night that—
A tugging at his neck stopped him. He couldn’t roll over. In fact, he couldn’t move at all.
Amberdrake’s eyes opened, but slowly, slowly, for they were sticky and felt swollen, and hurt too, though not as much as his head. He didn’t learn much of anything, however, for there was nothing more enlightening than a yellow marble wall in front of him. He was lying on his side, but someone had “considerately” propped him up and padded him with cushions placed beneath him in a primitive mattress.
Why does this not comfort me? Possibly because I have obviously been bludgeoned and am now tied hand and foot?
Moving even a little woke pain in his arms and neck, but also told him that much. His arms were pinned together by a restraint at the elbows, behind his back, although they had not been tied so tightly as to be uncomfortable.
Yet. Of course, I’m a kestra’chern, and I can force my muscles to relax, which might help.
His wrists were also strapped together, and there was a collar around his neck that was fastened to something behind him; that was what had kept him from rolling over.
So much for rescuing Skan. Whoever has him must have been watching our rooms. Gods, I hope they didn’t get Zhaneel!
Blinding pain washed a red haze over everything for a moment; when it subsided, he continued to take inventory of his situation. Curiously, though, he began to realize that he wasn’t afraid any longer. Maybe because the worst has already happened, so why be afraid?
His ankles were tied together, and his knees, although he could bend both. He craned his neck a little and bent at the waist as much as the collar would allow, to get a peek at the bindings on his legs. His head throbbed, but there was enough slack in his bindings for him to think about getting himself loose.