on, until the tunnel opened out again. We'd come to another junction, this one large enough to be considered a cavern. I was alarmed when a shape glided out of the shadows, until our lamplight revealed it as an elderly man in patched leather armour. He saluted Estrada and asked, "How goes it, Captain?"
"As well as can be expected," she replied. "Any word?"
"Nothing new."
She nodded, and the man slipped back into the gloom.
Captain? I remembered hearing something once about a mayor being expected to lead their townsfolk in a time of war. Surely that wouldn't apply to a woman, though? I'd always assumed Estrada's appointment had been meant as a joke, and it had never occurred to me that others might see it differently. Yet I could think of no other explanation for her presence on the battlefield.
Estrada had moved to the cavern's far wall, where a low opening led onward. She turned back and said to Mounteban, "You can wait here." When he looked as though he'd debate the point she added, "No arguments. You can eavesdrop again if you like."
She crouched to hands and knees and disappeared into the entrance. Mounteban waved me on when I didn't follow, and I could feel the elderly guard's eyes on the back of my neck. I dropped to all fours and crawled after Estrada.
That short journey was worse than climbing the ladder had been. I couldn't lift my head without scraping it on bare rock, and the surface beneath my hands was just as uneven. Both were cold and moist, and once again I was travelling in near blackness. I was immensely relieved to see Estrada's shape ahead fringed with grey. The grey grew paler and paler, until suddenly she moved aside and dazzling moonlight filled my view. I clambered gratefully out into it, and if it hadn't been for Estrada's grasp on my elbow, would have stepped right off the cliff.
For that was where we'd come out: dizzyingly high upon the cliffside, perched on a slender outcrop, looking down over the eastern Castoval. I could make out the contours of Muena Palaiya directly below, illuminated by occasional glimmers of lamp or torchlight. Grander fires burned in the triangle of ground before the north gate, seething puddles of yellow spread between the silhouettes of tents.
Estrada, following my gaze, pointed down towards the encampment. "That's where Moaradrid's holding your friend."
"My friend?"
"The giant you travelled with."
"Oh. I wouldn't have chosen that particular word."
Her glance was disapproving. "No?"
"Anyway, I'm sure he'll be all right. He'll explain, in his monosyllabic way, that it was entirely my fault, and they'll likely take him back to his real friends."
"Even if that were to happen," she said, "It wouldn't fit with our plans."
"These mysterious plans again. Tell me, why exactly have we come all this way, when I could be asleep in that nice, warm cave?"
Estrada looked at me as if I was deliberately missing the obvious. "You can't very well rescue the giant from inside a prison cell, can you?"
CHAPTER 8
I squinted at the makeshift encampment.
It was a bright, clear night and, if I concentrated, I found I could pick out the abrupt triangles of tents, the crooked shadows of olive trees, and even the figures of patrolling guards when they passed before a campfire or across a patch of moonlit ground.
None of that told me where they were holding Saltlick. I couldn't imagine they'd waste a tent on him, or allow him near a fire. He would be out in the open, and most probably tied to something. I personally doubted he possessed the guile to try to escape again, but Moaradrid wasn't to know the details of his last elopement, and – despite my earlier claim – I didn't really believe Saltlick would blame me. Apart from anything else, it would involve the kind of multiple-word answers he seemed to detest so much.
I noticed an irregular patch of darkness that wasn't a tent and,
"As well as can be expected," she replied. "Any word?"
"Nothing new."
She nodded, and the man slipped back into the gloom.
Captain? I remembered hearing something once about a mayor being expected to lead their townsfolk in a time of war. Surely that wouldn't apply to a woman, though? I'd always assumed Estrada's appointment had been meant as a joke, and it had never occurred to me that others might see it differently. Yet I could think of no other explanation for her presence on the battlefield.
Estrada had moved to the cavern's far wall, where a low opening led onward. She turned back and said to Mounteban, "You can wait here." When he looked as though he'd debate the point she added, "No arguments. You can eavesdrop again if you like."
She crouched to hands and knees and disappeared into the entrance. Mounteban waved me on when I didn't follow, and I could feel the elderly guard's eyes on the back of my neck. I dropped to all fours and crawled after Estrada.
That short journey was worse than climbing the ladder had been. I couldn't lift my head without scraping it on bare rock, and the surface beneath my hands was just as uneven. Both were cold and moist, and once again I was travelling in near blackness. I was immensely relieved to see Estrada's shape ahead fringed with grey. The grey grew paler and paler, until suddenly she moved aside and dazzling moonlight filled my view. I clambered gratefully out into it, and if it hadn't been for Estrada's grasp on my elbow, would have stepped right off the cliff.
For that was where we'd come out: dizzyingly high upon the cliffside, perched on a slender outcrop, looking down over the eastern Castoval. I could make out the contours of Muena Palaiya directly below, illuminated by occasional glimmers of lamp or torchlight. Grander fires burned in the triangle of ground before the north gate, seething puddles of yellow spread between the silhouettes of tents.
Estrada, following my gaze, pointed down towards the encampment. "That's where Moaradrid's holding your friend."
"My friend?"
"The giant you travelled with."
"Oh. I wouldn't have chosen that particular word."
Her glance was disapproving. "No?"
"Anyway, I'm sure he'll be all right. He'll explain, in his monosyllabic way, that it was entirely my fault, and they'll likely take him back to his real friends."
"Even if that were to happen," she said, "It wouldn't fit with our plans."
"These mysterious plans again. Tell me, why exactly have we come all this way, when I could be asleep in that nice, warm cave?"
Estrada looked at me as if I was deliberately missing the obvious. "You can't very well rescue the giant from inside a prison cell, can you?"
CHAPTER 8
I squinted at the makeshift encampment.
It was a bright, clear night and, if I concentrated, I found I could pick out the abrupt triangles of tents, the crooked shadows of olive trees, and even the figures of patrolling guards when they passed before a campfire or across a patch of moonlit ground.
None of that told me where they were holding Saltlick. I couldn't imagine they'd waste a tent on him, or allow him near a fire. He would be out in the open, and most probably tied to something. I personally doubted he possessed the guile to try to escape again, but Moaradrid wasn't to know the details of his last elopement, and – despite my earlier claim – I didn't really believe Saltlick would blame me. Apart from anything else, it would involve the kind of multiple-word answers he seemed to detest so much.
I noticed an irregular patch of darkness that wasn't a tent and,
Similar Books
