Rather than a hinged door, the entire end wall was thick solid wood beams held together with iron straps lightly marred by rust and age. It seemed too solid, perhaps having been replaced over the years. A quick inspection revealed that it slid down along grooves in the tunnel's side walls and was raised into a ceiling slot by a set of chains dropping out of holes in the ceiling's stone.
'Too easy," Magiere said over Leesil's shoulder.
"No," he answered. "Just a draft-door… something to pass through quickly… and maybe block off afterward."
He knelt down with the lantern and heard Magiere step closer. He tipped the lantern to direct its light to the lower left corner of the wooden portal. A bar of aged steel was mounted against the bottom. It was so dark it melded with the wood and stone without the light shining upon it.
"Slide bolts," he explained. "On both sides. Easy to kick into place and seal the door. Most wouldn't notice these, if they didn't already know they were here. Pursuing forces have to batter down the portal from the inside, should they find it." He ran his hand over the wood. "The passage beyond is likely steep, narrow stairs leading up, making it difficult to use even a small ram to bring it down. A simple and efficient design."
Leesil stood up, gripped the dangling chain, and pulled. It came down more easily than expected, and the wooden portal scraped along the wall channels up into the ceiling. Somewhere in the ceiling or walls there was a counterweight doing most of the work.
As he'd guessed, a steep stone staircase on the other side led upward and was just wide enough for one person. Each step was deep enough for only his boot, from toe to heel. He climbed upward, and Magiere followed. Farther behind he heard Chap's claws on the steps and glanced down once to see Emel's glowering face in the lantern's dim light as the baron followed last.
At the top, Leesil came upon bare stone blocking his way.
"Now what does your expertise tell you?" Emel whispered.
"Just wait," Magiere replied, and her slipping patience was plain in her voice.
Leesil traced the mortared stones with his fingers. However it opened, it had to be simple for anyone fleeing the keep. Any mechanism had to stand the wear of moisture over the years. Rails, hinges, and mechanized devices wouldn't work, and would be visible from his side of the wall. He pulled out a stiletto and tested the cracks.
The stones were chiseled to fit like huge bricks. He found a crack between two at the left side where there was no mortar at all. He checked the top of the wall. The line between the top row of stones and the ceiling was completely unmortared.
Leesil handed Magiere his lantern, and she pulled his toolbox out of its makeshift rope straps on his back. He removed a thin hookwire from the foldout panel lid and handed the box back to her. She tucked it into the ropes again. Leesil slipped the wire into the crack above the top row of stones.
The wire strut slid all the way in until he held its end with only his fingertips. He worked along the crack, slipping it in and out again and again. Then it jammed to a stop, sinking only an inch or more near the wall's midpoint.
Leesil shifted the wire back and forth, feeling it scrape on something metallic. He pulled the wire out and tucked it into the back of his wrist sheath.
"It pivots," he said. "Get ready. We won't know what's on the other side until it's too late."
Leesil put his shoulder against the wall's left side and pushed. At the sound of grating stone, Magiere reached around his chest and flattened her hand against the wall to assist.
It pivoted at the center, just as he'd expected. A thick metal rod must have been run through the wall's midpoint. The side he pushed spun inward while its opposite end turned outward. He dropped to a crouch, stiletto in hand, and looked through the opening on his side.
There was an empty room with more stone walls. It was so small there was barely enough room to lie down on the floor. In the far wall was a stout wooden door with a metal-shuttered peephole. This room was most likely a cell for prisoners.
Magiere leaned out the opening on the rotated partition's other side. She stepped into the small room with her falchion drawn. Leesil followed, heading straight for the door, and found it locked or somehow barred. Even worse, there wasn't a keyhole.
"Now what?" Magiere asked.
Byrd shortened his stride so no change in the rhythm of his steps would be heard. When Emel had slipped from sight around the tunnel's gradual curve, Byrd headed back the other way.
He listened carefully with each step. When certain that no one noticed he was gone, he picked up his pace. He reached the tunnel's end, climbed up the rungs in the stone wall, and crawled through the hole in the dead tree. He'd barely emerged when two tall figures seemed to materialize from the darkness.
Both wore cowls over their heads and wraps across the lower halves of their faces. They'd tied the trailing corners of their cloaks across their waists. All of their attire was a blend of dark gray and forest green.
I hough Byrd knew them, he moved cautiously until close enough to see their large amber eyes. Strands of silvery hair hung down across the leader's dark-skinned forehead. Brot'an was Byrd's main contact.
"You have a way into the keep?" Brot'an asked.
Though elves were reputed to be tall and lanky, Brot'an was solidly built for his height and almost a full head above Byrd. Even in the dark, faint lines around the mans large eyes marked him as an elder of his people. His most distinguishing markings were the ridges of straight and pale scars upon the right side of his face. Four lines ran through his feathery eyebrow, skipped over his eye, and continued through his cheek, disappearing under his face wrap. Staring into the elf's eyes, it was if those large amber irises burned through cage bars made of scarred flesh.
Byrd had seen Brot'an's companion only twice. He was younger and slight of build, and the few tendrils of hair visible beneath his cowl might have been light blond. Daylight would likely lighten them further. Byrd had never caught the younger man's name.
"Yes," he confirmed at Brot'an's question. "How did you escape the city?"
"At your signal, we intercepted the wagon and crawled underneath. We were with you for most of the passage into the forest."
The younger elf stepped up to the dead tree, leaned into its hole, then looked back to Brot'an. "Bitha cilleach slighe vo Ihohk do dan’gneahk. "
"Where does the tunnel come out?" Brot'an asked.
"Somewhere in the keep's lower levels," Byrd said. "There's already one of you inside. Well, not exactly… he's the half-breed of an elven woman who-"
"Cuirin'nen'a?" Brot'an whispered.
Byrd paused, for the name was only half-familiar. "If you mean Nein'a, then yes. Her son's name is-"
"Leshil," Brot'an finished.
"If you mean Leesil," Byrd added, "then yes."
Ac the mention of Gavril and Nein'a's son, Brot'an's companion stepped closet, casting a suspicious glance at Byrd before silently watching his superior. Brot'an's gaze drifted away, and he looked about the dark forest as if lost in memory.
Byrd saw only the mans eyes, but was certain a nicker of hardness passed over Brot'an's expression beneath the scarf. Apparently this elder anmaglahk knew of both Nein'a and Leesil. Byrd hoped this wouldn't affect the many years of work that had led to this night's good fortune.
"Why is he here?" Brot'an asked suddenly.
"He's trying to discover what happened to his parents," Byrd answered. "And I'd guess he might try to stop you as well.
Brot'an let out a sigh and sagged under some hidden weight.
"Do you know something about Leesil's parents?" Byrd asked, and it was a slip he immediately regretted.