Krondor the Assassins (31 page)

Treggar climbed the ramp next to James and put his hands up to examine the door. ‘‘There’s probably a piece of canvas and some dirt spread out over this old wood. Enough so that if you’re walking across it you’d have to be listening for the hollow sound to know that ramp is there.’’

‘‘Add to that a few centuries of dust,’’ muttered James, testing 278

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the weight of the door on the bar. ‘‘This isn’t moving unless we can tie a pair of ropes to it.’’

‘‘We’d need horses to pull that bar out with all the weight on it,’’ said Treggar.

James sat down. ‘‘Maybe.’’ He inspected the bar again and finally said, ‘‘Unless we can loosen those brackets.’’

William held up the crowbar and said, ‘‘I can give it a try.’’

He set to with purpose, and after a minute said, ‘‘This wood is very dry. It’s splintering easily.’’ He worked at it until the first of the two brackets fell away, striking the stone ramp with a loud clatter. He then turned to the second bracket and shortly had it free. The bar followed, crashing to the floor and bouncing down the ramp, causing James to have to leap over it.

William sprawled on his back, and Treggar leapt to the side.

William lay motionless for a moment, expecting the doors to swing down upon him, but instead nothing happened. He rolled and crawled a little way, came to his feet and then stepped to the bottom of the ramp.

‘‘Shouldn’t those doors have swung down?’’ asked William.

‘‘Supposedly,’’ answered Treggar.

He started to move back up the ramp, but James’s hand restrained him. ‘‘I wouldn’t. It could give way at any moment.’’

Treggar shook off the squire’s hand, saying, ‘‘I don’t think so.’’ He moved to what would be the closest edge of the opening where the door jamb met the door itself and inspected it.

He then pulled out his dagger and stuck it between the door and the jamb, and pried something out.

He returned to his companions holding out a sliver of something brown.

‘‘Mud.’’

‘‘Mud?’’ asked William. ‘‘Here?’’

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‘‘It doesn’t rain much in this region,’’ said Treggar, ‘‘but it does rain. And over the years dust has settled upon that door, then gotten rained upon, and then the heat returns.’’

‘‘Brick,’’ said James, taking the sliver from Treggar. ‘‘The door is covered by a slab of this stuff, maybe two or three inches thick.’’

‘‘But what’s holding the door in place?’’ asked William.

‘‘Suction,’’ said James. ‘‘I’ve had to pull more than one heavy object out of the mud and if you don’t break the suction first, you’re doing it the hard way.’’

‘‘So we’re stuck?’’ asked William.

James looked around and said, ‘‘Not necessarily.’’ He moved to one of the large racks and said, ‘‘Help me lug this over to the bottom of the ramp.’’

They did so, and after it was where James wanted it, he said, ‘‘Now move that bar over here.’’ Quickly he had the bar jammed in to the bottom of the trapdoor, braced against the heavy rack. ‘‘This won’t prevent the trap from falling on top of me, but it should slow it enough for me to get out of the way if it starts to go.’’

‘‘What are you doing?’’ asked Treggar.

‘‘I’m going to cut away some of this mud, enough so that any weight above it should release the door.’’

‘‘You’re mad,’’ said Treggar.

James said, ‘‘You’re only coming to that conclusion now?’’

He moved up the ramp and said, ‘‘Stand back. If this goes, I want a clear path down that ramp.’’

He worked diligently and carefully, and after a while William turned his attention to the hole in the floor, watching and waiting for them to be discovered.

After an hour, James said, ‘‘That should be enough.’’

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William glanced at James. ‘‘For what?’’

James smiled. ‘‘For it to give quickly when I want it to.’’

‘‘Another plan?’’ asked Treggar.

‘‘Always,’’ said James with a grin. ‘‘Now, do either of you have a good guess as to what time of the clock it is?’’

Treggar said, ‘‘I put it near midnight, give or take a quarter of an hour.’’

‘‘Good,’’ said James, sitting. ‘‘Then we wait.’’

‘‘For what?’’ William asked.

‘‘For the half a dozen men set to watching the well above to get bored and sleepy.’’

James hugged the wall between two large sets of shelves, trying by force of will to become one with the slight shadow between them. A single guard was stationed near the well, absently cutting the skin from an apple as he glanced around from time to time.

James weighed his options. He could chance a dagger throw, but the odds of it being a killing blow were slight. He could rush the man, but suspected there were others close by who would appear within moments of any outcry.

James had moved into the kitchen a few moments before the guard appeared and had ducked into the only cover at hand. He now remained motionless, hoping the assassin wouldn’t notice the shape in the shadows on the stone wall.

The man looked away and James reacted without further thought. He stepped across one of the shelves and walked around a large butcher’s block that stood between the shelves and the well.

The man glanced over as James moved casually toward him.

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James smiled. ‘‘Hello,’’ he said, the only word he knew in the Keshian desert dialect.

The man blinked for a moment, then replied, ‘‘Hello?’’ Then he asked a question in the language they had heard the assassins using.

James had a dagger palmed behind his wrist, and as the man repeated the question, James slashed him across the throat.

With a gurgling sound, the man gripped his throat and fell backward, into the well.

Voices coming from somewhere close by spurred James and he leapt on top of the well. He repeated his earlier feat of jumping up into the shaft and pulling his legs up, jamming his knees and shoulders into the walls of the ancient stone-lined tube. A slight gasp of pain escaped his lips as he discovered how bruised his shoulders and knees were from the last time he had pulled this stunt.

He shimmied up the well, feeling every inch of the ascent, until he was just below the lip. He knew he couldn’t stay there long, and the sky above was lightening, so he started up the last few feet.

James listened for voices and heard none. He peered cautiously over the lip of the well and found six sentries nearby, four of them obviously sleeping and the other two involved in a quiet conversation, their attention on one another, not the well.

James judged them to be ten feet or closer and knew that if he tried to climb out one of the two was almost certain to see him. He decided on a dangerous course.

He turned his back to the two men, and started slowly to snake his way over the lip of the well. Should either glance in his direction, in the dim pre-dawn light, they might miss the 282

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distorted form on the edge of the well. If they paused to look in his direction, they would certainly see him. He prayed they were convinced no one was coming up this way after all these fruitless hours of guarding it.

James got his shoulders over the edge of the well and let his own weight carry him slowly down behind the bricks. If fate was kind, Edwin should have found either the other Pathfinder or Arutha’s advanced scouts by now. If so, Arutha would be coming within the next day, two at the most. If not, James didn’t want to consider the chances of getting out of the area alive.

He put his hands on the ground and gently let himself down. With as silent a movement as he could manage, he turned, sitting with his back to the well. He drew his sword and took a breath, ignoring the pain in his back and knees, then he leaped up.

It took a moment for his presence to register on the two men who were talking and they both stood slowly, as James took off at a run.

One of them shouted and the others came awake, slowly, asking questions in sleepy voices. James ran straight to where he judged the trapdoor to be, listening for a hollow sound.

This proved futile, since the yelling from behind drowned out any sound from below, but he did feel the ground give slightly at one point. He stopped, turned and jumped backward a few inches.

The soil below his feet felt as if it had given slightly. He ran backwards for a few feet, then crouched as if waiting for the men who raced toward him. They began to slow, and he realized with alarm they were on the verge of fanning out to surround him.

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He turned and ran as if suddenly in a panic, and he heard orders shouted from behind.

Then a loud crack and a crash followed and James turned to see all six men falling through the trapdoor. He raced as fast as he could toward them. While holding the advantage for a moment, James and his companions were outnumbered two to one.

He reached the near end of the trapdoor and leapt, turning in mid-air so that he landed facing down the ramp.

The caked mud had prevented the left side of the door from falling fully into the ramp. The twisting ramp caused the men to fall, one atop the other. James found himself staring down into the darker interior of the ambush chamber, lit by only the one torch, as William and Treggar battled two guards.

Suddenly James felt his heels slip, and his feet went out from under him. He landed with a bone-jarring crash on the wooden ramp and slid a few feet, bowling over two assassins who were trying to rise.

James kept sliding, and saw that one of the enemy was trying to climb past him rather than fight. James slashed with his sword but missed as the man vaulted up the ramp past him.

James couldn’t lavish any more attention on the fugitive, as another assassin sat up next to him, cutting at him with a backhanded blow from his scimitar. His only option was to throw himself backward on to the ramp, striking his head hard, as the blade cut through the air. Lying prone, James lunged with his sword, killing the man sitting next to him.

He sat up and found a black-clad back turned to him. Without hesitation, James struck it. His head pounded and he felt dizzy from the concussion he had just taken.

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Treggar stood over one dead assassin, while dueling with another.

William struck one man while he kicked out and backed off a second.

James leapt on the closer of the two facing William and knocked him to the ground, wrestling him down, while William killed the one he faced.

James shouted, ‘‘One’s getting away!’’

William shouted back, ‘‘I’ll get him!’’ He leapt over the dying man and raced up the ramp.

Reaching the top of the ramp, William saw the man more than a hundred yards ahead of him dashing down an incline leading to a gap in the rocks.

William started running.

James and Treggar killed the last assassin and appeared at the top of the steps in time to see William vanish down the eastern access. James said, ‘‘Go after him, and if he kills that man, then take him with you.’’

‘‘Where?’’

‘‘To find Arutha,’’ said James. ‘‘My original plan was to get back into the stable and hold the door while Arutha killed those trapped outside the door, then open the door and let him come inside to kill the rest.’’

‘‘And we three were going to hold the door alone?’’

‘‘That’s why I was trying to cut down the odds, captain.’’

‘‘Now what?’’

James said, ‘‘Get Arutha to send two dozen men through this room, down that hole and come into the fortress from the east. Have him use a ram to batter down the eastern doors.

They’ll be so intent on holding those doors they won’t notice those you lead in through here.’’

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‘‘What are you going to do?’’

James said, ‘‘Distract them. If they find this way to the surface, we lose a big advantage.’’

Treggar looked as if he was about to say something, then just nodded. He turned and ran after William.

James took a deep breath of fresh air as the late afternoon sun set behind the eastern peaks. Then he turned and climbed back down into the ancient fortress.

William had never been the fastest runner among the children on Stardock, or the fastest cadet at Krondor, but he had always had endurance. He knew he would have to call upon that endurance to overtake the assassin, who was clearly faster. William suddenly realized the assassin had made a mistake and had chosen to run down the ancient wadi, to the passage along the west that William and his companions had used to enter the fortress. Had he run the other way, he might have found allies outside the eastern gate, or pounded on it to get attention and quickly bring help. Now, William had a chance.

He saw the assassin ahead of him when the wadi widened out as it began a long gentle turn to the north. Running down-hill, William could see the man had slowed slightly. Excitement or fear had lent speed to the man’s first burst, but now he was slowing into a more conservative pace, a long loping stride.

William wasn’t certain if the man even knew he was being chased, since he had not looked back at any time when he had been in his sight. William’s heart pounded and his eyes stung.

He blinked perspiration out of them. He breathed evenly, but his throat was dry and he could feel his body aching. Lack of sleep, water and food was taking its toll.

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himself to pick up the pace, and slowly he could see he was gaining on the assassin. William had no sense of where he was, and no idea how much farther he would have to run before reaching the trail that passed north of the wadi’s entrance. He could imagine it being scant yards ahead of the assassin, or another mile. He didn’t know which.

He saw he had halved the distance between himself and the man; he had closed to barely a hundred yards when the assassin looked over his shoulder. Either he had sensed William behind him or he had heard him, but regardless of the cause, he now knew he was being chased.