with a well-aimed blow to the jaw, and Halasaa wrestled the second to the ground.WithTonno’s help, he deftly bound both guards with the lashes of their own whips and used their gloves to gag them.
‘That was easy,’ panted Tonno. ‘Thought there’d be more guards.’
Yes . Halasaa frowned. Very easy .
Tonno was already thudding up the stairs. Dozens of tiny cells honeycombed the tower. The knucklebone players were right: every door was bolted shut. One after another, Tonno and Halasaa flung open the doors and pale, wretched figures stumbled out. These were true prisoners, the enemies of the Guild, and they didn’t wait for explanations.Those who could walk staggered down the stairs, barely glancing at their rescuers in their haste to be gone.Those who were too weak to move cried out feebly, but the stronger ones ignored their pleas for help.
‘Darrow? Where’s Darrow?’ shouted Tonno.
‘At the top!’ came the reply, and Halasaa and Tonno sprinted up the winding stairs.
Tonno yanked back the last bolt and threw open the door. Darrow was sitting upright on a bench beneath a high window, unbowed and seemingly unharmed. Chains bound his wrists and ankles, and he was gagged with a grubby strip of cloth. Darrow’s grey-green eyes came alive with a mixture of delight and anxiety. Tonno’s knife flashed from his sheath and with a single cut the gag was gone. Darrow rasped out a chantment, the chains fell away, andTonno pulled him into a glad embrace.
‘Thank the gods! You all right?’
‘I’m not infected.’ Darrow stepped back. ‘But my luck could not have held much longer. Come on!’ He led the way, pelting down the steps, stumbling slightly on legs stiffened by the cold.
They were quick, but not quick enough. At the foot of the stairs a group of Protectors was waiting. The tip of a whip flickered through the air.Tonno cried out; his hand flew to his cheek and came away stained with blood. Darrow threw back his head and with fierce energy, growled out a song of ironcraft. Instantly, the whips twined in the air like searching snakes, tangling the arms and legs of the Protectors, writhing into knots. The guards yelled, and swarmed up the steps. Tonno unsheathed his knife with a roar and strode down to meet them. Halasaa kicked out and sent the nearest Protector sprawling back on top of his fellows.
Step by step the three friends fought their way forward, down the stairs, then out onto the terrace. It was sleeting hard. Darrow sang fiercely; his chantments tripped the Protectors’ boots beneath them, made gloves fly up to hit their owners in the face, and twisted whip-handles from the grip of those who held them. An icy wind blasted across the terrace, driving everyone back against the wall.
Slowly, slowly, Darrow and the others struggled across the slippery flagstones. Sleet stung their faces. One by one the Protectors fell, tangled in the lashes of their own whips, or slumped on the stones. ‘This way!’ cried Darrow. The wind tore the words from his lips as he beckoned his companions toward the edge of the terrace.
Tonno gripped Darrow’s arm. ‘Have you lost your wits?’ he yelled, his thick black eyebrows crusted with ice. Darrow shrugged off his hand and bent forward into the wind.
Look out! Halasaa called a warning. Another group of guards had burst from the building behind them, a mixture of Protectors and lazar-guards with their chequered armbands. Darrow glanced over his shoulder. He mouthed to the others, Come on! and fought against the wind toward the precipice. Tonno and Halasaa followed through the driving sleet.
The yells of the guards and their drumming footsteps were lost in the screaming wind. Darrow was close to the cliff; he launched himself forward and slid on his stomach to the edge. With a howl, one of the lazar-guards leapt after him and gripped his ankle just above the boot. Darrow kicked wildly, but couldn’t shake him off; his trousers ripped, exposing bare skin, and
‘That was easy,’ panted Tonno. ‘Thought there’d be more guards.’
Yes . Halasaa frowned. Very easy .
Tonno was already thudding up the stairs. Dozens of tiny cells honeycombed the tower. The knucklebone players were right: every door was bolted shut. One after another, Tonno and Halasaa flung open the doors and pale, wretched figures stumbled out. These were true prisoners, the enemies of the Guild, and they didn’t wait for explanations.Those who could walk staggered down the stairs, barely glancing at their rescuers in their haste to be gone.Those who were too weak to move cried out feebly, but the stronger ones ignored their pleas for help.
‘Darrow? Where’s Darrow?’ shouted Tonno.
‘At the top!’ came the reply, and Halasaa and Tonno sprinted up the winding stairs.
Tonno yanked back the last bolt and threw open the door. Darrow was sitting upright on a bench beneath a high window, unbowed and seemingly unharmed. Chains bound his wrists and ankles, and he was gagged with a grubby strip of cloth. Darrow’s grey-green eyes came alive with a mixture of delight and anxiety. Tonno’s knife flashed from his sheath and with a single cut the gag was gone. Darrow rasped out a chantment, the chains fell away, andTonno pulled him into a glad embrace.
‘Thank the gods! You all right?’
‘I’m not infected.’ Darrow stepped back. ‘But my luck could not have held much longer. Come on!’ He led the way, pelting down the steps, stumbling slightly on legs stiffened by the cold.
They were quick, but not quick enough. At the foot of the stairs a group of Protectors was waiting. The tip of a whip flickered through the air.Tonno cried out; his hand flew to his cheek and came away stained with blood. Darrow threw back his head and with fierce energy, growled out a song of ironcraft. Instantly, the whips twined in the air like searching snakes, tangling the arms and legs of the Protectors, writhing into knots. The guards yelled, and swarmed up the steps. Tonno unsheathed his knife with a roar and strode down to meet them. Halasaa kicked out and sent the nearest Protector sprawling back on top of his fellows.
Step by step the three friends fought their way forward, down the stairs, then out onto the terrace. It was sleeting hard. Darrow sang fiercely; his chantments tripped the Protectors’ boots beneath them, made gloves fly up to hit their owners in the face, and twisted whip-handles from the grip of those who held them. An icy wind blasted across the terrace, driving everyone back against the wall.
Slowly, slowly, Darrow and the others struggled across the slippery flagstones. Sleet stung their faces. One by one the Protectors fell, tangled in the lashes of their own whips, or slumped on the stones. ‘This way!’ cried Darrow. The wind tore the words from his lips as he beckoned his companions toward the edge of the terrace.
Tonno gripped Darrow’s arm. ‘Have you lost your wits?’ he yelled, his thick black eyebrows crusted with ice. Darrow shrugged off his hand and bent forward into the wind.
Look out! Halasaa called a warning. Another group of guards had burst from the building behind them, a mixture of Protectors and lazar-guards with their chequered armbands. Darrow glanced over his shoulder. He mouthed to the others, Come on! and fought against the wind toward the precipice. Tonno and Halasaa followed through the driving sleet.
The yells of the guards and their drumming footsteps were lost in the screaming wind. Darrow was close to the cliff; he launched himself forward and slid on his stomach to the edge. With a howl, one of the lazar-guards leapt after him and gripped his ankle just above the boot. Darrow kicked wildly, but couldn’t shake him off; his trousers ripped, exposing bare skin, and
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