The three Tishaarans left Delaney by the main water fountain and strolled the stone walkway that wound between patches of tilled black soil where the Citadel gardens were being replanted for the spring. They were cursed with the Tishaarans’ lack of deceptive instincts. As she watched them awkwardly approach the massive brick fortress that towered over the city of Orduna, Delaney worried that even a casual observer would immediately guess that they were up to something.
They don’t have a clue what they’re doing. Should have sent me and put those three amateurs on the bench.
Hummer led the way down a short, open stairway to a lower terrace, past a gardener hauling bulbs in a wheelbarrow. According to the blocked letters of a precisely carved sign, they were approaching the Archives wing of the Citadel. The Archives was a block-long, four-story building that looked something like a Cathedral. It adjoined the city’s Government complex, an even larger structure that rose to seven stories. The University facilities were housed in a third section of the Citadel, on the opposite side of the Government section.
The three crossed the terrace to a small service door. “This is it,” said Hummer. “Just act as though we have business in here.” Oozing overt nonchalance, they slipped through the door into a darkened hallway. Windglow closed the door behind them, and immediately felt as though he had shut himself into a dungeon.
“My accomplice said that the Archives alone is far too complex to explain at one sitting, let alone the entire Citadel,” said Hummer. I took it as an insult at the time, but looking at the scope of this, I am willing to reconsider. He left a map in the closet on the left hand wall, folded up on the third shelf.”
Shaska felt around and found a crisp scroll of parchment on one of the shelves. She handed it to Hummer, who carried it around the corner. By the light of a single, erratically flickering oil wall lamp, he unfolded the scroll and pursed his lips. Windglow peered over his shoulder.
“You are blocking my light,” scolded Hummer.
The map resembled a street plan of a major city, or rather several major cities, each representing a floor of the Archive. Rather than following a uniform order, there was an artistic flow to the floor plan. The length and placement of halls and corridors varied from floor to floor. Rooms budded off into other rooms, some of which emptied into other halls, so that each floor had the effect of a maze.
Hummer traced a route from their present location to the basement, two floors beneath them. “Now I know why the Citadel has the reputation as the seat of knowledge,” he chuckled. “If you can find your way around this labyrinth, all other problems seem simple by comparison.”
Windglow had visited the University the previous summer to observe some classes. He had come away with impressions of a sparkling, well-lit, structure teeming with students bathed in the dignified air of wisdom. But the Archive section of the Citadel resembled nothing so much as a coal mine. It was dark and suffocating with dust stuck to the damp floors and walls, and rat droppings collecting in the corners. The place was lit by one lamp or torch per hallway, at best. Many wicks stood empty. Lighting was not a priority of the current masters. He wondered if the Archive was more poorly maintained than the other wings, or if the University and Government sections had also had fallen into such neglect.
“Does no one ever use this place?” wondered Shaska.
“Passes to the Archives have been suspended for the past several months,” said Hummer. “The University has not been in session since last fall. No reason given in either case. No one knows what is going on with the government.”
He guided them through the forks in the corridor without encountering signs of another living person. They stole down the stairway where, again, a single lamp sputtered. While the floor sloped downward, the ceiling did not, and so the hallway opened into a cavernous foyer.. The walls of the lowest level were neither mortared stone nor brick but had been blasted or chiseled out of solid rock.
From beneath them arose a droning. Windglow shared Hummer’s confusion over this. Both had assumed from the maps that they were on the lowest floor of the Archive, the level at which Ehiloru would be found, yet sounds were clearly coming from below. They approached the bass hum, which buzzed like an electric current through the stone walls. Upon rounding a corner in the corridor, they saw a shaft of light rising from a pit. The vibration intensified, as if a doorway blocking the sound had been opened.
Hummer gestured toward the pit. He dashed past the opening, peeking into its depths as he ran. Windglow had to push Shaska to keep her from lingering at the pit, which was filled with contorted pipes and strange, convoluted machinery run by pulleys, belts, wheels, and gears. In his brief glance, Windglow saw oily water channeled through a series of chutes and troughs.
This was the Citadel’s pump room. Not only did it bring water to the top floor of the building, but it powered the many fountains in the courtyard. A single worker flitted among the works like a fly in a warehouse.
Hummer risked a quick word. “Almost there,” he whispered. Several moments later he halted in midstride as if he had run into an invisible net. A soldier stood in the corridor just ahead. The three Tishaarans backed up into an empty room for an emergency consultation.
“What did your friend say about guards in this corridor?” asked Shaska, shaken by the close call.
“Did I neglect to mention that?” asked Hummer. “This guard is the reason I chose to trust my informant. Had he claimed that Ehiloru sat down here unguarded for us to sweep out with no effort, I would have been suspicious. But he warned that we would encounter a guard. Right at this spot.”
“And what did he suggest we do about this guard?” asked Windglow.
Hummer shrugged and looked away. “He said we might have to kill him in order to succeed. See, that is another reason to trust him. No one would put one of his own compatriots in such danger unless he were truly devoted to our cause, now would they?”
Shaska glared at him, incredulous. “Hummer, surely you are not suggesting that we kill him?”
“Oh no, that would be too easy for soft-boned, chicken-hearted Tishaarans,” said Hummer, sarcastically. “Nonetheless, even we sweet little daisy-pickers must do something about him. For the sake of Ehiloru, you understand, not for us, heaven forbid! Knocking him senseless would be best, I suppose.”
“Knocking him senseless!” gasped Shaska. “What practice have we in such techniques? How can we be certain we do not hit him too hard?”
“Begging your pardon, dear, but what did you think this was, a stroll to the nursery? We are dealing with vicious people. And think of what is at stake! We may as well give ourselves up now if we are not willing to take a risk for freedom now and again.”
“As Tishaarans, we cannot take such a chance,” said Windglow, belatedly coming to Shaska’s defense.
Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Hummer turned and crept toward the guard. Shaska glanced nervously at Windglow, who put a cautionary hand on her shoulder. He did not believe Hummer would actually murder the man. At least not yet. Unless . . . Winglow refused to contemplate any further scenarios.
The guard detached the corridor’s only torch and carried it into one of the rooms for a quick inspection. Scarcely were the man’s heels inside the doorway than Hummer sprinted past the room, waving one arm furiously. Shaska was after him in a flash. Windglow waited a second to see if their scuttling had alerted anyone, then sprinted as noiselessly as he could over the rock floor to catch up.
“Shaska, you are a veritable panther,” said Hummer, panting from the exertion. “I got by the door first, you were next, and I believe my shadow came in third. There, we made it past the guard with our fragile consciences intact.”
While pausing to catch his breath, Windglow reflected that the moral dilemma posed by the guard had only been postponed. The man would likely pose a more serious problem during their escape. He had the sinking feeling they were working themselves into a trap from which there was no escape.
Eventually, they reached the junction of four corridors and two spiraling staircases. Here the walls jutted out in an irregular fashion, as if the black stone had been, in places, too hard for tools to dent. The wet, darkened passageways gave Windglow the impression that he was creeping through the bowels of a great fish rather than in the realmland’s ultimate repository of accumulated knowledge.
One short flight of stairs led to a wide foyer. In the middle of that foyer, dimly visible, they found Ehiloru. His head, topped by a wild shock of uncombed, unwashed hair, poked through two stout slabs of wood, as did his hands and feet. Next to him stood a smaller pillory that shackled a woeful creature. Even in the obscure light, the plump body, scrawny arms and grayish cast defined it as a Morp.
With a satisfied smile, Hummer grabbed Windglow's arm. “My informant advised me to post a guard on this end, just to be safe. He suggested that vantage point back by that pillar where the stairwells merge. From there you can see most of the corridors. Here,” he said, thrusting the maps in Windglow’s hands. “Hang on to these.”
Windglow nodded. Although he longed to see the face of the man they had come so far to rescue, he had been steeped in Tishaaran self-denial enough to focus on his duties at the expense of his desires. But some ill-defined suspicion kept him from blind obedience to Hummer’s instruction. He tucked the maps into a pocket and retraced his steps while evaluating all the possible avenues of escape or peril. The fact that so many paths emptied into this one spot disturbed him. He did not like standing so near a crossroads within enemy grounds
He poked his head through several doors along the corridor. Two of them emptied into other corridors. He did not explore them further. In a maze as complex as the Archives, branching off into an unknown passageway was a sure way to get lost, even with a map. But if it should come to a choice between getting lost and getting caught, it was nice to have some alternatives
Windglow stepped into the shadow where Hummer had posted him. He could not see the others from there, however. Choosing his own vantage point, he pressed himself into the shadows on the opposite side of the foyer. If he craned his neck around the corner, he could clearly see the Morp in his pillory; Ehiloru was barely in view. To his alarm, he could also hear every word they whispered, amplified by the low, solid walls. He hoped their voices were not traveling with similar clarity to unwelcome ears within the Archive.
Hummer bounded down the stone steps to greet Ehiloru. He grasped the prophet by his ears and gave him a loud kiss on top of his head. “Mr. Ehiloru, we happened to be in the neighborhood and wondered if you were up to entertaining visitors at the present.”
Ehiloru squinted up at him. “Tishaarans!” he marveled.
“Ah, our Ordunese garb cannot fool so practiced an eye. Tishaarans we are. Here to set acquire your liberty.”
Ehiloru was at a loss for words. From where Windglow stood, the old man seemed older and more gaunt than he remembered him. There was a hollowness under the cheekbones, a sag to the jowls, an extra wrinkle about the forehead, a bit more woolliness to the white hair.
“But how did you get here?” the prophet whispered, as Hummer wrestled with the pins that locked the pillory in place.
“I might ask you the very same thing,” whispered Hummer back.
“It is my fault,” broke in Shaska. “Had I not delayed us, we would have reached Orduna before you were captured.”
“It was Delaney who --” started Hummer.
“It is complicated. We can speak of it once we get out of here,” insisted Shaska.
Ehiloru lifted his head to get a better view of his rescuers. He broke into a broad smile when he saw Shaska working feverishly on the Morp’s pillory. “Forgive me. One forgets his manners in a place like this. Before anything else, may I introduce my good friend Snetrock.”
Shaska smiled at the Morp. “How do you do, Snetrock? I am Shaska and this is Hummer.”
The Morp merely blinked back at her.
“We have been roommates,” said Ehiloru. “My captors thought it would be a source of special vexation to have a Morp as my sole companion. The fools! The only vexing thing about it is finding that people not only ignore what I preach but believe that I do not mean what I say. There is no such thing as demeaning one’s self by association with another of the Creator’s work. On the celestial market, I command no greater price than my good Morp. He has been a most worthy colleague.”
“Forgive us for the delay,” puffed Hummer as he continued to work on the pillory pins, “but we Tishaarans do not have the stamina we are used to in our realm. Tell us, if you would be so kind, what has happened to this fabled City of Knowledge.”
“Quite simply, it has been sacked,” said Ehiloru. “So cleverly that no one outside the Citadel knows it has even happened. By whom, I do not know. But secretly, over what I now believe to have been years, these people have infiltrated the Citadel. At first, traitors from within, among the Senate. Then others came in secret. They have disbanded the University and imprisoned all government officials. They have cut off communication and access to the Senate, all in the name of the very government they have subverted. Such is the web of silence about the place that none on the outside can penetrate even a layer or two. Everyone in the city blames the senators for the horrid state of neglect and inaction among Orduna’s leadership, but most of these officials are behind bars within these very walls. Their families have either been placed under house arrest, dispatched, or driven out of the city.
“The good citizens of Orduna, and they are harder to find these days, are confused by their elected leaders, and furious with them. They know neither why they are not being governed nor why the city has run amok with lawless elements. Since the Senate conceals itself behind impenetrable bureaucracy, they can find no target for their wrath and so they do nothing but complain. Everyone has become cynical, assuming the leadership to be haughty and corrupt, which is, no doubt, exactly what the usurpers intend.
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“But see for yourself who is in control here. I mean look closely at the guards. There are some among them, particularly in the Archive wing, who are not soldiers of Orduna but hoodlums from beyond the borders of this realm.”
“All of this is part of the great conspiracy, then, is it not?” asked Shaska as she finally freed the Morp. She moved over to help Hummer lift the ponderous block of wood off Ehiloru’s neck. “The Cold Flame Conspiracy.”
“Cold Flames?” asked Ehiloru, as the Tishaarans released him from his private prison. After long days spent in that awkward position, he had trouble straightening up. He put his hands on the small of his back and slowly tried to arch it. “The mark of the Fifth Realm? Is that what the young fellow found on the island?”
Suddenly Shaska cried out. From a hidden entrance at the end of the room farthest from Windglow, leather-clad soldiers clattered into the foyer. Windglow saw them just as Shaska sounded the warning. But before he could race to his friends’ aid, armed guards poured forth from the stairwells on either side of him. Frozen in horror, he saw several draw their swords and thrust at the shadows where Hummer had told him to wait.
Betrayed again! Twice in two days! And this time the signs were so obvious! Even I could smell it from a long way off, and Lord knows I am no reader of men’s hearts! Why had I not the backbone to stand up to Hummer’s conceited foolishness?
“Run!” shrieked Shaska. She raced toward the foyer opposite where Windglow hid, pulling Ehiloru, still bent over and moving stiffly, by the hand.
Windglow coiled tensely in his darkened corner, torn between desire and prudence. Instinct drove him to help his friends, although this would accomplish nothing against such numbers. But as he was about to dash out, another company of soldiers poured down the stairs. Even though skewered by blades of guilt, he steeled himself to his responsibility. If he left his hiding place now, it would be a noble but useless gesture. There was nothing he could do to help against hundreds of armed men. His only chance of being of any use at all to his friends was remaining alive and uncaptured.
Shaska dashed frantically to the entrance of one narrow, darkened hallway after another, but soldiers blocked every exit. Letting go of Ehiloru, she sprinted for the stairway near Windglow, dodging soldiers who tried to tackle her. She is trying to occupy enough of the garrison so that one of the others might possibly escape. Brave Shaska! Sacrificing herself without hesitation, while I cower in a corner.
For a time her agility and quickness sent soldiers sprawling and clutching at air. But there were too many of them, too little room to maneuver, and Shaska began to tire. An arm swiped at her ankle and tripped her. In a second, dozens of strong hands pinned her to the floor, so near to Windglow he could almost have reached out and touched them.
He bit his lip in anguish until it bled. Again, he poised himself to rush to her aid. Again held back, cursing his cowardice.
Meanwhile, Hummer sidestepped a phalanx of soldiers and pulled out his tishaarat. Charging into his foes, he lashed out repeatedly. The crack of his weapon echoed through the caverns, like the sound of lightning striking and splitting a sturdy oak tree and he connected often enough to add yelps of pain to the mix. But his furious defense caused more anger than fear, as those on the receiving end returned, bent on revenge for the welts received. The more wildly Hummer snapped at the closing circle, the more ragged his technique and the less effective his blows. All at once, he leapt on one of the guards and wrestled away his sword. Furiously, he slashed and thrust at his attackers.
The Morp raced around in what could only be described as deadpan hysteria. Never breaking his forlorn expression, he raced from side to side, bouncing into walls and tripping over steps. At one point, he slammed into a wall without so much as lifting his limp arms to break the impact. Soldiers howled with laughter at the spectacle. Those around him relaxed their vigilance, poking hairy elbows into their neighbors’overhanging guts as they anticipated the creature’s next witless move.
Their careless spectating saved Windglow's life. In one of his caroms off the wall, the Morp bumped into the lone lamp in that section of the foyer. The lamp clattered on the floor where the spilled oil ignited and spread along the uneven stone floor. The soldiers easily extinguished the flame but the accident left a large section of the foyer unlit.
In the moments of bedlam before another torch could be found, Windglow saw his chance. He rushed out from his darkened corner and dove into one of the empty rooms he had scouted.
As the commotion died down, he hid against a wall, straining to hear what was happening out in the corridor.
“Hey, the Morp just ran up the stair!”
“I’ll be damned! I didn’t know they could climb stairs!"
“Brost, take some men and kill that drooling idiot.
“What about this one? She’s a beauty, she is!”
“Leave her to me. No one is to harm a hair on her head.”
The soldiers filled the air with curses and threats in protest, but their leader stood firm. “You’ll have your chance with her, boys, but those are the orders for now! And I’ll slit the throat of any man who don’t follow orders. Now where is that meddling holy man? And the gullible fool?”
Fainter voices from the far end of the foyer:
“Got the prophet here, sir.”
“Got the hairy Tishaaran cornered here, sir. He got one of our guys.”
"What to you mean, 'he got one of our guys."
"He killed him."
There was a long pause.
"I thought you said he was Tishaaran."
"I am quite certain that he is."
"Then how . . ."
There was another long pause and then a voice saying, “Take Ehiloru and the girl to the vaults. As for that one, kill him. Now!"
Windglow's blood ran cold at the words. He clawed at the stone wall in anguish at Shaska’s heart-rending scream. He blinked back tears for both his friends.
Poor Hummer! Proud, gullible, foolish Hummer! Baited and trapped like an animal and then slaughtered like a sheep. Dying in a stone vault far beneath the earth with the laughter of his enemies ringing in his ears. The trap had been so obvious. A child could have spotted it. Even I could spot it; what does that tell you?
The fact that these brutes could even have proposed such a transparent scheme showed their extreme contempt for Tishaaran intelligence. And they had been proven right.
He tried to block out thoughts of the horrors that awaited Shaska. Again, his mind twisted in knots as he wrestled with the urge to sell his life in a last gasp effort to save her. How can I just sit here shiver in the darkness while they take her away to do God knows what? Hiding behind the cloak of responsibility. Responsibility? Is that not just an excuse for saving my own contemptible hide? Rationalizing! Cowardly rationalizing!
But again, he could not see what good would come of it. How would he help Shaska by committing suicide? Would it make her last hours any easier to bear seeing him carved up like Hummer? He froze against the wall, pinned in place by helplessness and indecision.
“The big fool spoke of four Tishaarans altogether. I see only two. Did no more of them enter the Archive? That’s why we laid this trap--to get all of them at once.”
“Werxin saw a third one come in with them at the gate, sir. Maybe they left him upstairs as a lookout.”
“Have a detail dispose of this body. And Gatrin’s, too. How he manage to let a Tishaaran kill him, I’ll never know. I don’t think it’s every been done before in the history of the realms. The rest of you search the entire Archives, room by room, until you find the third spy.”
The news prodded Windglow into action. Bursting with grief and wracked by self-doubt, he slipped out the rear door of the empty room and into the blackened maze of catacombs. The only chance Shaska or Ehiloru have is for me to avoid capture.
In his rational mind, he knew that was true. Yet every time he said it, he found himself doubting his motive.
Finding a narrow, unlit stairway, he climbed to the next floor. As he crept through the corridors and felt his way along their limestone walls, he banged a knuckle on a partially askew lamp that reeked of spilled oil. The smell reminded him of the Morp’s accident back in the cavern. That poor soul had somehow gotten away from the soldiers and was loose in the Archive--hunted like a rabbit. Leaving a trail of spills and collisions in his wake.
Windglow's conscience jabbed at him again. There is no chance to do anything for Shaska or Ehiloru at the present. Likely there never will be. I shall never get out of here alive, and I do not deserve any better. But the Morp. Perhaps he could actually accomplish something with him. What if he could locate the fellow and shepherd him to safety? Such an effort could well deliver Windglow right into the hands of the enemy. But he did not hesitate. In this case, thank God, he knew his duty as a Tishaaran. He sniffed each hallway for the smell of spilled oil, checked for fixtures slightly askew, anything that might indicate a Morp had blundered through.
If they think of it, the murderers could follow his trail just as easily. But he saw no evidence of such a systematic tracking; only sporadic shouts and footsteps of the search parties.
Steeling himself each time he rounded a corner, he searched one corridor after another, halting at the slightest flicker of a shadow or whisper of a sound. At the end of a narrow, highly polished wood corridor that contrasted sharply with the damp stone of the basement floor, he discovered a door quivering on its hinges. He crept into the room and found it piled with desks atop a dusty marble floor. There were no signs of recent damage. Windglow feared he had lost the trail.
Nonetheless, he searched the room and then poked his head into an adjoining library crammed with cases and boxes full of ponderous, hidebound books. The dim light, murky with dust, showed wide gaps between the volumes on the shelves. Windglow suspected many books had been removed from the shelves. By whom and for what purpose?
Then he noticed the dust again. Where the light illuminated the room, the particles clouded the air. Did they hang in a state of continuous suspension, or had they been stirred up?
He heard scuffling behind one of the crates. Probably a rat.
But he tiptoed toward the crate. Carefully, he peeked behind it. There he discovered an ugly little creature shivering in terror on the gritty floor.
Taking a lesson from the women’s ambush the night before (how long ago that seemed!) Windglow leapt on the Morp and clamped his hands over the terrified creature’s open mouth.
“Shhh! I am a friend. Here to help you,” he whispered.
The Morp bit down hard on the hand.
“Ahh! Please! I am a friend! Easy!” pleaded Winglow in a strangled whisper.
“Bite, bite,” squeaked the Morp. Only with patience, persistence, and a high threshold of pain was Windglow able to calm the frantic creature.
“I am your friend,” he insisted. “You must be quiet or we shall be caught.”
The Morp still cringed and clung to the shadows as if light were poison, but at least it made no move to attack or to flee.
“There you go,” said Windglow, summoning his brightest smile. “Quiet is the word.”
“Quiet,” chirped the Morp.
Having found the creature, Windglow turned to the more difficult problem of delivering it to safety. A person had little better chance of stumbling upon an exit in this catacomb than of blundering out of Cloudmire. Windglow saw no choice but to go back to the dungeon foyer and retrace the path they had taken on the way in, perilous though that may be.
But not yet. Not while the search was still hot. He sat with the Morp in the deep shadows for a long time, perhaps hours, listening for the sounds of the search parties, moving on to another room when he thought he voices or footsteps drawing near. The Morp appeared to trust him. It dutifully followed Windglow’s every command, as long as he issued only one at a time in very simple terms. It sat patiently for as long as Windglow required without making a noise. Whenever they moved, Windglow guided him carefully and slowly, avoiding anything that could possibly be run into or stumbled over.
Hours passed before he decided it was time to risk the breakout. Retracing his path required him to return to the subterranean cavern where all hell had broken loose. He feared the Morp would resist returning to the gloomy prison from which it had escaped and he dreaded trying to explain his reasoning to someone so thick-headed. But the Morp offered no resistance when led back down the staircase, probably, as Windglow reflected, because it had virtually no sense of direction
The lower level seemed deserted. Windglow decided that Ehiloru had actually been imprisoned somewhere else and had simply been brought to this cellar to bait the trap. He was tempted to snoop about to see if by some miracle he could find Shaska and Ehiloru, but he dared not take chances with a Morp in tow. He had to get this creature to safety before he could think about rescuing anyone else. If the two of them managed to get out of the Archives, he would find Delaney. Beyond that, he had no idea what he should do.
He stopped cold when he saw two pools of blood on the stone floor.
He did not know which horrified him most, looking upon the blood of a murdered friend lying unmourned in a musty cavern, or upon the blood of one killed by a Tishaaran in what was, as far as he knew, an unprecedented violation of the sacred code. How could the extinguishing of life be so insignificant to the executioners that they could not even be bothered to clean up after it? In what unknown and unseemly location had they discarded Hummer's body to be unmourned forwever? Had they no sense of decency?
Windglow fell to his knees, overwhelmed by despair and helplessness and the
magnitude of the evil that confronted him. He had done nothing, he could have done nothing. He could do nothing of worth now, not even pause to grieve properly, to pour out the sickness in his heart that was bursting beneath his skin, to let the tears flush out some of the horror and shame in him. Grief was a luxury affordable only to those with time and security. It was far beyond the means of one trapped inside the Devil's fortress.
He found himself speaking to the smear of blood, for that was all he had left of Hummer. He spoke to both pools for he had no way of knowing which was Hummer and which was the man Hummer had slain. “Why, Hummer? Why did you give in at the last and take up the sword? What was it about Tishaara that so grated against your soul? And you, whoever you are-- on Hummer’s behalf, I beg forgiveness for what he has done.”
He stood, his temples pounding, his vision blurred. “I shall remember you, my friend. I will never speak of what happened here. If ever I return to Tishaara, I shall tell only of your courage.”
But the shadows mocked his vow. If I return. What are the odds of that?
He saw the Morp blinking mournfully at him. “Where is the justice, my friend?” he whispered. “Poor Hummer was always fighting to get loose from the Tishaaran way. There were times when I wondered if he took any pride at all in being one of us. And to see him trapped and brought to ruin by the very most Tishaaran trait of all--trust!”
“Trust me, trust me,” muttered the Morp.
Windglow pulled himself together and led the Morp quietly along the corridors until he arrived at a familiar hallway. He came to an abrupt halt when he realized, belatedly, why it was familiar. This was the corner at which the lone guard had been stationed, the one they had left unharmed, against Hummer’s judgment.
But the guard was gone. As he led his new ward down the corridor, Windglow began to understand what kind of enemy they faced. This was not a regular guard post. The soldier had been stationed there simply to lure the Tishaarans into the trap. The “friend” who had won Hummer’s confidence had used one of his own men to bait the ambush. He might well have expected the guard to be slain. Only a person who knew the Tishaarans intimately could have suspected them to stick so rigidly to their code of conduct at the expense of a desperate, crucial mission. A wave of nausea washed over Windglow at the thought of Shaska in the hands of such cruelty and at his inability to protect her from it in any way.
The Morp clung so closely to him that Windglow grew concerned about ever detaching from it. It was bad enough having to crawl through a darkened maze with the fellow in tow, tripping over its own feet and entangling itself in Windglow’s. But once on the street, in the open, the Morp would be an impossible liability. He would attract instant attention. How can I get him to leave him? Is it cruel to let him go? Can the creature survive in a Second Realm City on his own?
As they drew near the entrance beyond the supply closet, he felt the stiff parchment from Hummer that he had tucked away. The maps! A flash of insight struck. Why should I leave at all?
There was no help on the outside, no reinforcements on whom he could call to storm the Citadel and rescue Shaska and Ehiloru. Once he escaped these walls, he would never get back in. On the other hand, he had managed, through Hummer’s tragic ineptitude and the Morp’s bumbling, to do what no one else had done in many months: breach the Citadel. He was at this moment close to the heart of the enemy than anyone had ever been or was likely to be for some time. And he had in his possession the maps to help him navigate this impossible maze of corridors, rooms, and foyers.
Should press that advantage? What if I could be the needle through which we tap the poisonous plans of the great conspiracy? If I could somehow find a way to pass that information to the true friends of Tishaara and Orduna. Assuming we have any friends left in the world, let alone the Second Realm.
Once he arrived at this decision, he tried not to think of the implications, both of what he could accomplish and of what could easily go wrong. He tried to forget that, as a Tishaaran, he was as ill-suited to spying as a turtle to flight. How he could feed himself in his role as spy, given his scruples against stealing food, was a matter he refused to consider. One thing at a time. Guide the Morp to freedom and then we’ll see where we go from there.
Putting his arm around the Morp’s sloping shoulders, he said, “See here. You go straight up these stairs, through that corridor, and out the door. Once you’re in the open air, run for all you are worth. Have you got that?”
“Worth,” said the Morp.
Windglow kicked himself for his lapse in trying to give the Morp more than one direction at a time. After his own experience in Morp, Windglow doubted the fellow’s ability to follow any direction, no matter hoe simple.
He sighed deeply. Taking his accidental ward by his sandpapery hand, he led him up the stairs to the threshold of the exit. He peeked out and noticed clusters of soldiers in the courtyard casually conversing under the starry sky. The Morp had slim chance of eluding them. To be honest, the simple creature would be hard pressed just to keep pointed in the right direction and avoid getting tangled up in the ivy or a hedge.
But neither could he stay in the Citadel. The enemy was searching for him, with no particular urgency, to be sure, under orders to kill on sight. Windglow found himself making another decision that he detested. He could give the Morp this slim chance, but he could not guarantee the creature’s safety. Getting it out of the building was the best he could do for it.
“Goodbye, Morp. And good luck,” said Windglow, tearfully shoving him out the door. “Run.”
He fell back into the shadowed halls of the Archive before the Morp’s appearance through the door called attention to Windglow. Only then did he remember Delaney.
Windglow, you ninny-waffle! Delaney stands out there waiting for us. Beside herself with worry! You could at least have tried to send a message to her through the Morp.
Just when he had begun to shore up his self-respect by voluntarily staying at his dangerous post, shame drenched him like ocean tide at again turning his back on those in desperate need. His conduct had been laughable. He had done nothing for the Morp, who would be caught in moments. And by staying where he was, he had abandoned Delaney, the only one of them for whom he could actually do some good. What would she do in the city by herself with the filthy minions of the conspiracy tracking her down? She who knew nothing of the basic rules of survival and who longed for order and the comforts of the city!
How she had suffered from abuse and deprivation in the Rushbrook jail! How slowly those scars had healed! She would find no comfort and little order now. She was on her own as much as the Morp, with no better chance of survival. Two children he had just let loose in the predator’s cage. All around him, his friends were crying for help. The world was crashing down on those who needed him, and all he could do was hide.and preserve his useless life.
Stop it. Delaney is not helpless. She is a bright young woman. She will manage.
But his words were not convincing. Again, he berated himself for not stopping Hummer’s preposterous rescue attempt. Why can I not lead anybody anywhere, for any purpose? Why am I such a jellyfish? Hummer would be alive if I had exercised proper leadership. Shaska would be free. Whatever grief comes to her because of this, God grant me tenfold in suffering.
He sat heaping abuse on himself until he became aware of the tickling of a furry appendage in his ear.
“Well, Puddles, my friend,” he said, scooping up the almost weightless puff of fur and holding it to his chest. “I am afraid we represented Tishaara poorly today. If we cannot do better tomorrow, I fear all realms shall pay a terrible price.”