Chane crouched and pulled the cloak tighter around all three of them. Wynn was still unconscious, but they had her positioned in the middle. He dug in the bag and found her short robe and draped it over her alone.
"I believe your baron went inside to look for you," Chane said, and pulled a pile of snapped branches within Hedi's reach. "He is welcome in the keep and privy to most news. Once he learns you are missing, he will come to find you. Keep a watch on the tunnel exit. Do not let the fire burn high enough to be seen across the lake."
"You are leaving?" she asked.
Chane could not decide if her voice held worry or relief, but he did not care. If he stayed, he might end up fighting for his regained existence.
"Keep watch over Wynn," he instructed.
"I will take care of her," Hedi Progae said. After a long pause, she said again, "Thank you."
Chane turned away, gradually slipping from the firelight's reach among the forest's trees. He looked back more than once to Wynn's sleeping face, until he waked too far into the cold dark.
Crouched within the dining hall, Leesil grew desperate.
Snarls down the south corridor died away. A tall blond-bearded soldier stepped into the far arch across the entryway and shoved out a younger soldier, ordering him to bring more men in off the keep walls.
Leesil guessed this was Omasta. Soon his men would be rushing about the keep.
The coming confusion would work in the Anmaglahk's favor. Omasta might secure Darmouth someplace safe, but the elves would find him. Leesil had instigated chaos inside strongholds a few times in his youth for exactly this purpose. The larger the place, the better it worked.
Omasta stepped back into the council hall.
Leesil had to do something quickly to warn Darmouth or Omasta. Voices shouting in the courtyard grew louder and closer, and he had only one option. If he didn't get his message out quickly enough, it would mean his own death, and possibly Magiere's and Chap's.
He rushed across the entryway before anyone came through the front doors, and crouched beside the council hall's arch. He left his weapons sheathed and spun around the archway into the council hall.
Omasta stood to the left of the table's near end. At the sight of Leesil, shock crossed his features, and Leesil shifted to the table's right side.
Leesil still wore his cloak, but the hood was halfway down, and his white-blond hair hung loose. His skin, eyes, and oblong ears were so different from those of the sturdy men who lived in the Warlands. Leesil could imagine how startling he must appear.
And then he saw Darmouth at the table's far end.
Leesil's throat tightened.
A sickening surge of revulsion rolled in his stomach. The very real presence of the tyrant made any surging memory but a shadow.
Darmouth's face was clean-shaven and his hair was cut short, but he still wore the steel-reinforced leather breastplate. Two long war daggers were mounted on his belt, and he wore a heavy shortsword sheathed at his hip. He took more care with his appearance than in the past, but Leesil saw only the murdering, self-obsessed dictator who'd made him kill over and over. Darmouth, who'd used his mother for… "You!" Darmouth shouted.
Omasta reached for his shortsword. "Guards!"
"I'm here to warn you," Leesil said with great effort. "Assassins are inside the keep."
"Yes," Darmouth answered. "That's plain to see right here."
Beneath the aging tyrant's anger, Leesil saw an eager hunger in Darmouth's glare. Omasta charged.
Leesil rolled across the table. He started to reach for a stiletto, but it would be no defense against a sword, unless he was willing to duck inside Omasta's guard and kill him. He pulled his right punching blade instead.
Omasta vaulted the table and came down swinging. Leesil blocked and ducked away at the clang of metal. He leaned into the wall and kicked up into Omasta's chin.
The solid impact whipped Omasta's head back, but he kept his feet, staggering against a high backed chair. Darmouth drew his own sword and charged around the table's end. Leesil dove across the table again before Omasta could right himself.
"Listen!" he shouted, and words stuck in his throat for an instant. "I'm not the one who's come for you. There are elven assassins inside the keep."
He believed that deep inside Darmouth was a coward, like any who saw deceit and betrayal everywhere and beat down dissention wherever it was perceived. Leesil hoped the man's own paranoia would plague him enough to listen.
"Liar," Darmouth growled, holding his sword out. "Traitor and liar, like your mother. I'll gut you alive on the west wall while the whole city watches."
Leesil's hatred for Darmouth began eating him up inside.
Omasta sidled along the table toward the archway, while Darmouth backed to the far end, circling to Leesil's other side. Blood trickled from Omasta's mouth into his beard.
Leesil tried to think of some way to convince one of them of the truth. Five soldiers appeared in the archway. His panic and fury made the dim room sharpen in his sight.
"I want him alive!" Darmouth shouted.
Magiere ran down the south corridor with Chap and Emel following behind. She skidded out the corridor's end in time to see five armed men come up to the archway of the council hall. Darmouth's voice echoed out into the entryway.
"I want him alive!"
Magiere glimpsed Leesil at the hall's right side, and her breath caught. He looked desperate, sweating in the keep's cold air. The lead soldier in the archway rushed him, and Magiere raced across the entryway.
Leesil sidestepped so quickly that the soldier stumbled, then he pivoted in a complete turn. His winged blade sliced through the guard's side. The man toppled against two chairs and fell in a heap. Two more guards surged forward as Omasta waved them on.
"Leesil!" Magiere shouted.
He saw her and then ducked as the next guard came at him.
The soldier closest to Magiere started to turn toward her. She hammered the falchion's hilt into his skullcap, and he toppled into the man in front of him. Magiere kicked out into her target's back, and both men fell to the floor at the table's end.
Magiere spotted Omasta, and for one breath he seemed ready to come for her. But he turned, running down the table's side. Magiere saw Darmouth at the back of the council hall. Omasta grabbed the tyrant's arm, pulling him toward the back wall even as Darmouth tried to jerk away.
Chap leaped over the men Magiere had downed and landed atop the table. He wheeled about, snapping and snarling at the two soldiers closing on Leesil. One of the downed men rose up to face Magiere while the other fumbled for his fallen sword. Emel ducked around Magiere.
"Try not to kill them," he barked, and closed on the rising man.
Magiere swerved around the table after Omasta. As she passed Chap, a soldier turned from Leesil and swung down at the dog's head. Magiere faltered, ready to lunge across and block with the falchion.
Chap hopped aside. The soldier's shortsword bit into the table's edge, and before the man could pull it back, the dog launched into his chest. Magiere's gaze flicked about the room.
Leesil managed his one opponent. Emel backed another soldier into the room's corner. She spotted a skullcap rising over the table's end-the first man she'd struck down. She stepped back and brought the flat of her blade down with a clang. The skullcap vanished from sight as she heard the soldier slump to the floor.
When Magiere looked back, Darmouth was gone. Only Omasta stood at the room's far end near the swaying tapestry of the lone rider. She rushed toward him.
"Leesil!" she shouted, and dodged Omasta's first thrust. "Behind the tapestry!"
Leesil dodged away from his opponent. Omasta turned from Magiere to intercept him, and she felt a wave of dread. Leesil would kill Omasta if the man didn't get out of his way. Magiere slapped down his sword with her own, and threw herself at him.