She reached down and gave the line a silent snap. The end obeyed, and flew up to reach her. She grabbed it with one hand and quickly pulled the line up. Then she lay as still as death on top of the dirty wall.
Forty.
The pacing warriors met in the center, turned, and then walked away again.
Closing her eyes, Satine sighed with relief. But this was no time to tarry. She lifted the hook free of the wall and turned it around to secure it against the other side. She took a moment to look down. There was no one about. She lowered the rope, then started down.
When she reached the inner ward of the palace, she snapped the rope again and lifted the hook free. It fell securely into her outstretched hand.
She closed the prongs of the hook and rewound the line. She removed the leather bag from across her back, taking out several small items, which she placed into her tunic. She then returned the hook and line to the bag and closed it.
With her dagger, she dug a shallow hole and buried the bag. If her plan worked, she wouldn't need it again. Replacing the dagger in its thigh sheath, she pulled Bratach's map from between her breasts. Looking around, she verified her position.
Hundreds of fires cheerfully burned before the tents of the sleeping wounded. Even at this time of night, many of the palace windows were lit from within. Minion guards patrolled among the tents, but they now held little fear for her. After all, she was no more than one of the hundreds of other wounded citizens who had yet to leave the security of the palace.
She pulled her braid free. Mindful of her pretended wounds, the Gray Fox walked out onto the palace grounds with an exaggerated limp.
The manicured grass was wet beneath her feet; the crisp evening air smelled pleasantly of the smoke rising from the campfires. A moon had emerged from behind the clouds. Satine was surprised by how many people still milled about at this hour. Yet another advantage, she thought. The larger the crowd, the easier it would be to become lost in the scene.
As she walked among them, she smiled and nodded. An elderly man of about eighty Seasons of New Life offered her a mug of warm ale and a seat beside him before the warmth of his fire. He wore a blood-soaked bandage around his head, and his creased face showed the creeping fatigue of his years. Satine smiled and graciously begged off, saying that she had no wish to disturb his sleeping family. Nodding, he bid her on her way.
After strolling between the tents for a time, she found a small clearing and stopped to look across the ward to the drawbridge. As she expected, the massive wooden gate was raised and locked. Several Minions stood guard beside it.
Should more of the wounded arrive, the warriors would of course lower the bridge to allow them entrance. Otherwise, during the night the bridge would remain raised in the interests of security-especially with the wizards away. Her timing couldn't have been better. Smiling to herself, she changed direction and walked toward the castle.
She had heard that much of the great structure's interior always remained lit at night. Given the large number of wounded still being tended inside, she was sure that it was illuminated even more than usual. Walking up the granite steps, she saw that the entire place seemed much more like some huge hospital than it did a royal dwelling. She crossed the giant patio, then entered the Chamber of Supplication.
The beds of the wounded filled the checkerboard floor, the hall having been reclaimed as a healing ward soon after the prince had given his speech to the citizens. She smiled briefly to herself. Bratach's suggestion that she attend had been invaluable. She continued on between the beds.
Minion healers, the white feather emblazoned upon their body armor, tended the wounded. The place smelled of blood, antiseptic, and freshly bleached linen. Acolytes of the Redoubt helped the healers, the azure glow of the craft sometimes surrounding the beds and the victims lying upon them. Standing torches and wall sconces threw flickering light across the walls, creating magnified shadow vignettes of the ongoing pain and suffering. Low moans and the urgent orders of the Minion healers and the acolytes rose into the air.
To Satine's relief, no one took any particular notice of her as she made her way among the beds. When she reached the far wall of the room she walked out into a long hallway. "Twenty more paces and you will see an alcove," Bratach had told her. "Stop there to consult your map."
She continued on, the crowds thinning as she went. The farther she proceeded into the castle unescorted, the more likely she was to be questioned by an acolyte or a Minion guard. She understood perfectly why Bratach had not told her the name of his confederate here. Should she be captured and later forced to talk by the wizards' use of the craft, he would lose only one, not two valuable allies.
Soon the alcove loomed. She looked up and down the length of the hall, then stepped in. The arched niche was fairly shallow and didn't provide much cover, but she wouldn't need to be in it for long. An oil sconce attached to the wall overhead granted her a small amount of light. Just below it hung an oil portrait of the prince, presumably painted during his younger, happier days. She snorted a soft, derisive laugh down her nose as she again removed the map from its hiding place.
After another hundred paces or so, she would take the hallway on the left, which led to the sleeping quarters. She would need the third door on the right.
She put her map away and peered out into the hallway. Satisfied that no one was near enough to concern her, she strode down the hall.
That was when she heard the crisp strikes of boot heels. Minion boot heels-she was sure of it. Looking around, she saw no place to hide.
Because surprise would be on her side, she might be able to kill them before they could react-except that the only real weapon she carried was her dagger; the items in her pockets needed to be saved for use on her target. Besides, if she killed them, their bodies would be evidence that an intruder had been in the palace. She couldn't afford that. She would simply have to try and bluff her way past them.
Then she remembered something she had seen on the map. She took it out, tore away a small section, and hid the rest away. Taking a deep breath, she walked on.
When the patrolling warriors came around the corner, she literally walked into them. Assuming a look of astonishment she held up her hands in a gesture of surrender.
"What are you doing here?" one of the guards growled. "This area is off-limits to the general populace."
He was especially tall, even for a Minion, and he was glaring at her. The other warrior had red hair, and his gaze was no less suspicious.
Satine quickly shifted her expression from one of astonishment to that of apology. "I'm here on behalf of Sister Katherine," she said, desperately hoping that her ruse would work. "I was walking through the Chamber of Supplication when she asked me to fetch more linen and to tear it into bandages," she went on. "They need them immediately, and they cannot spare a healer to fetch them. I was glad to help."
Holding up the section of map, she gestured at it. "She drew me this map, but I think I might have gotten lost anyway," she added anxiously.
Giving them no time to think, she pointed urgently down the hall. "She told me that there was another linen closet, a little farther down." Without asking permission, she began limping away. "It's this way, is it not?" she demanded, as she brazenly kept on going.
The taller warrior turned to look at his companion. He shook his head.
"There must have been another influx of wounded," he said. "The healers have reached the point where they need extra help."
Seizing the initiative, Satine put a worried look on her face as she continued to limp down the hall. "You're holding me up!" she fairly shouted at them. "People are bleeding to death! Now, is the linen closet down this way or not?"
The tall warrior nodded. "It's near the next corner. The door should be unlocked. But be quick about it, woman."
With a wave, Satine turned her back to them and hurried down the hall. Only when the sound of the warriors' boot heels became distant enough did she finally turn ar
ound and look. The patrolling warriors were rounding the next corner, moving out of sight.
Stopping for a moment, Satine leaned up against the cool marble wall. She closed her eyes and did her best to calm her heartbeat. Nearly there, she thought. Hiding the torn map again, she walked on.
The corner she was looking for was just ahead. She slowed her pace, rounded the corner, and crept silently to the third door on the right. She placed her ear to the door. Silence.
She dropped to the floor, turned her head, and peered through the narrow gap under the door. Only moonlight illuminated the room.
She stood, reached into a pocket, and produced a pair of narrow iron tools, each about as long as her hand. One had a flat end, the other a hook. Slipping them both into the keyhole, she worked them carefully back and forth until she heard the lock quietly turn over. She placed the tools back into her pocket.
After checking to make sure she was still alone, she grasped the gold, cantilevered handle and gave it a turn. She gently pushed open the door. To her great relief, the hinges did not creak. She silently stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.
Moonlight drifted in through the open stained glass windows. The figure in the four-poster bed lay unmoving. Satine quietly crept to stand by the side of the bed. Identifying the face in the moonlight, she smiled.
From her pockets, she produced one of the vials she had purchased from Reznik and a short line of string with a small, lead plumb bob in the shape of a teardrop tied to one end.
She held the vial to the moonlight and gave it a gentle shake. The violet fluid and the magenta swirls blended quickly.
She carefully opened the vial. Her nose picked up the scent of the Eutracian bees' honey she had ordered the fluid laced with. Unrolling the line, she let the plumb bob drop to a point directly over the victim's lips. She placed the open end of the vial near the other end of the string, and very carefully poured a small amount of the fluid onto it. As the violet liquid silently crept its way down the string, she watched and waited.
Soon the fluid gathered on the bob and started to form a perfect droplet. Holding the line steady, she watched the droplet grow in size until it finally became too large to sustain itself. It fell directly onto the victim's lips, not an iota of it wasted.
The sleeping person scowled then unconsciously licked the sweet poison. Another drop soon followed. Again it was automatically licked into the waiting mouth.
Satine closed the vial and silently returned both it and the plumb line to her pockets. She made her way to the door, then turned around to take a final look at the sleeping figure in the bed. Her victim stirred, then lay still.
Satine opened the door and peered out. No one was about. She slipped out and headed back the way she had come.
Her limping walk back to the courtyard was uneventful. She did not see the warriors who had stopped her in the hallway, nor did she pause to speak to anyone else. Soon she was outside again threading her way between the tents of the wounded.
She looked at the sky. Dawn would arrive soon. There was still one more task to complete, and she would need to hurry.
As she casually limped back over to the remote section of wall by which she had arrived, she removed her dagger. Quickly she buried the plumb bob, the lock picks, and the deadly vial. After scraping the dirt back over the hole, she wiped her hands down the length of her trousers and limped back into the camp.
The drawbridge was still up, but she was not concerned. She knew that it was lowered each day at dawn to allow the wounded to pass in and out of the courtyard. The warriors would take little notice of someone who was mostly healed and wanting to be on her way.
As she wandered through the camp, she again came upon the old man who had spoken to her. He smiled, the creases in his face showing in the glow of the firelight.
Sitting down on the stump beside him, Satine smiled and told him that she was finally ready for that mug of warm ale.
CHAPTER XLVII
His name was Dax. at thirty-two seasons of new life he was relatively young to be a Minion officer. His bravery and skill in the aerial campaign against Nicholas' hatchlings and the recent sea battles with Wulfgar's demonslavers had quickly brought him to the attention of his superiors. With that had come a well-deserved promotion.
Now a captain, he had been honored when Ox selected him to command the warriors left behind at the base of the Tolenka Mountains. It was his task to observe the rampaging Orb of the Vigors and to send regular reports to the Conclave. Eager to make his mark, Dax took his first command seriously.
After the departure of Geldon and Ox, his first order had been to move the camp farther away from the newly created canyon. The intense heat lingering there had vastly accelerated the deterioration of the animal carcasses that lay within. His greatest concern had been disease, but the rising stench alone was enough incentive to move. As it was, even from the relative security of their new campsite, he could sometimes detect the telltale odor of rotting flesh.
Near dawn, Dax stood up from his camp stool and slowly stretched his wings. He did not look like a typical Minion. Clean-shaven like commander Traax, he was fairer than most. His eyes were a rare light blue and he had light brown hair and wings. Although still unmarried, he hoped to one day take a mate and have children.
Rufio, his aide-de-camp, lay asleep at the edge of the campfire, an empty akulee jug by his feet. Twenty years Dax's senior and possessing the battle scars to prove it, Rufio was a great bull of a warrior. He was nearly as large as Ox, and his loyalty was just as unshakable.
As the sun scratched its way up over the eastern horizon, the camp bugler sounded his horn and the troops woke up and exited their tents. Shortly, the usual sounds of grumbling and the smell of warm food began to greet Dax's senses.
He suddenly noticed shadows passing over the grass. Looking up, he saw the night patrol returning. Dax picked up his dreggan and he secured the weapon's baldric over one shoulder. After checking the blade to make sure it wouldn't stick in its scabbard, he attached his returning wheel to his belt. Smiling, he gave Rufio's meaty shoulder a short kick.
"Wake up! The patrol has returned."
With a groan, Rufio rose up onto his elbows. Grimacing, he narrowed his dark eyes against the rising sun. Then he looked at the akulee jug and he shook his head regretfully.
Eager to speak with the leader of the patrol, Dax walked over to where the warriors would land. Rufio slowly stood to find his head still swimming. Stretching his muscles, he stiffly followed along.
The six exhausted warriors landed. Their wings drooped, and their bodies and faces were blackened with soot. It was all their leader could do to snap his heels together in the customary salute. They carried extinguished torches, which they unceremoniously dropped to the ground. Concern showed on the leader's face.
"What of the orb?" Dax demanded.
"The situation has changed," the lead warrior answered. "The orb is still carving into the mountainside, its pace unchanged, but it has now traveled far enough so that the entrance to the pass may be seen. In my opinion you should view it for yourself, sir. No words of mine could do it justice."
Dax nodded his approval. "Very well. Take your warriors to the camp. Eat, drink, and rest. I will return shortly."
Grateful for the respite, the tired warriors clicked their heels, then turned and walked the short distance back to camp.
"Are you game for a little sightseeing?" Dax asked Rufio. A teasing smile crossed his face. "It would do you good!"
Still trying to clear his head, Rufio pulled on his beard. He knew he hadn't really been asked a question; he had been given an order. He clicked his boots.
"As you wish, Captain," he answered. At Dax's order, he picked up two of the torches the others had left behind.
Taking a few quick steps, Dax snapped open his wings and he launched himself into the air. Rufio followed.
They headed northwest, toward the place where the ruptured orb had first made c
ontact with the forest. They soon found themselves over the steaming canyon. Trying to avoid the stench, Dax took them higher.
Steaming water still filled the ugly gouge in the earth. Thousands of bloated animal carcasses bobbed aimlessly, making the flooded canyon seem even more crowded than before. Scavenger birds circled above, banking to descend and collect their next meal.
The two warriors landed at the edge of the decimated forest at the base of the Tolenkas. In every direction, vast areas of timberland had burned to the ground. The smoldering soil that had once sustained the trees was as black as night. Here and there wisps of dark smoke rose lazily into the sky. Devoid of both animal life and the majestic forest, the entire area was eerily quiet. Taking to the sky, the two warriors flew west again, climbing up the rising sides of the mountains.
As they went higher, the charred remains of the forest gradually disappeared to reveal the stone base of the Tolenkas. Following the darkest part of the destruction left by the orb, Dax's gaze soon fell upon another canyon, this one carved out of the rock.
He and Rufio descended carefully. Just as the patrol leader had told them, the pass was magnificent. Its floor was jagged, uneven, and at least thirty meters wide. Its scarred walls rose vertically, their tops lost somewhere in the ever-present fog. Hissing steam poured from jagged cracks in the walls and floor. The warriors could soon feel the heat beginning to seep into the soles of their boots, and rivulets of sweat crept down beneath their body armor.
A limited amount of sunlight filtered through the fog. As Dax looked down the length of the canyon, he could see no end to it. Great explosions of rock could be heard in the distance, testament to the orb's continued success at the task that humanity had never been able to accomplish. The ground shook slightly, causing the occasional rockslide. This was a dangerous, evolving place, and Dax knew they would have to be very careful if they were to stay alive.
The Minion captain slid his dreggan from its scabbard. Rufio followed suit, then handed Dax one of the torches. Their senses alert, the two warriors began walking into the passageway.
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