''That doesn't mean I cant find a way in," Leesil answered.

"All right then." Byrd stepped back and hefted Magi ore's falchion to swing.

"No! That'll leave the keep wide open," Leesil warned.

Byrd whirled toward him in anger. "Then what would you have us do?"

Chap rumbled, moving in on Byrd. Leesil shook his head at the dog.

An open back door would serve a rebellion-or an assassination. He'd have to watch Byrd carefully, but short of killing him, there was only one answer in the end.

Wynn had been right. This province was headed toward conflict, and the removal of Darmouth would sink it-and perhaps all of the War-lands-into bloodshed. Darmouth or those close to him had to be warned before Byrd's anmaglahk allies could act.

Leesil's stomach knotted. He had to save the monster who'd made him kill again and again for the lives of his parents.

"Wait," he snapped at Byrd, and stepped close to the dead oak. He doubted they could hack through with only a sword. There had to be some sign of where the opening might be. The darkness made it difficult to see any detail, but he felt along the rough surface for anything odd.

At the place where the curve of the center trunk met its companions was a line. Some of the dead bark had broken away over the years. The more he inspected, the more a pattern emerged. A definite crack of decay ran vertically along the crevice.

"Here," he said. "Chip away lightly along this line. But be quiet about it."

Leesil stepped back, and Byrd chipped at the crevice with the falchion's point. The noise made Leesil flinch. They were far from the city, but he still turned about to glance in all directions through the forest.

At first Leesil saw nothing and held up a hand for Byrd to stop. When he ran his fingers across bare wood where the bark was gone, he found a thin crack in the exposed surface. He pulled one of his winged blades, sank its tip into the crack, and levered it to the side. Byrd joined him, pushing with the falchion's blade. They worked in turns, one prying so the other could slip a blade farther in.

A crack of splitting wood answered. Leesil pushed his blade deeper and they both heaved again. A louder crack and snap came this time.

Byrd stumbled sideways into Leesil before righting himself. A piece of the tree's wood broke away, and Leesil stared into a jagged dark hole the size of his fist. He braced his foot on the tree's roots where they met with the trunk, and stepped up high enough to slide his hand in.

The hole's depth was about half his forearms length, and then he felt nothing but open space. The dead oak between its siblings was hollow.

Leesil felt along the inside surface and touched a narrow but thick strip of metal. When he wiggled it, it spun sideways, mounted on some nail or pin at its midpoint. Nothing happened, and he sank his arm farther into the hole. He felt around the inside, found two more metal straps within reach, and twisted each one.

A large oblong piece of the trunk fell outward against him, and he jumped back out of its way. It toppled, thumping against the tree roots, and Leesil stared into a dark opening large enough for a crouched man to crawl through.

The builders couldn't hide hinges and had simply used the lines of the tree to cut a hidden hole in the trunk. They'd secured the panel from the inside-bark and all-with simple pivoting straps of metal that braced against the opening's inside.

"That's it," Byrd said. "I'll get Magiere and Emel."

He walked away. Byrd's eagerness roused a sickening knot in Leesil's stomach. He and Magiere could get Wynn back, but they still had to keep Byrd in check.

Leesil leaned into the opening, and looked down. In the dark, he barely made out metal rungs forming a ladder down to a stone alcove deep beneath the triple trees. There was no wall on the alcove's side facing in the direction of the keep. This would be the tunnel they sought.

For a moment, Leesil imagined the panicked faces of his parents appearing in the alcove to look at him.

Byrd hurried through the trees toward the road rather than to the small fire where Emel and Magiere waited. When he had the wagon in sight, he took out the strange small mirror the anmaglahk had given him and stepped to where he could clearly see the near-full moon. He tilted the mirror and aimed its reflected light toward where they'd left the horses.

He'd done the same thing as the wagon had headed for the front gates of Venjetz. Carefully shifting in the dark beneath the canvas, he peered out the back and used the mirror, fie wasn't even certain if they were nearby, but they always seemed to appear whenever he wanted to contact them.

Anxiety built as he waited. Then a light sparked in the night woods. Byrd took a deep breath of relief.

At least one of his allies had escaped the city and understood this was an opportunity that might not come again. He signaled his acknowledgment and ran back through the forest to find Magiere and Emel.

The anmaglahk would follow.

Wynn's feeble pounding on the locked door received no answer. No food or water had been brought, and her thirst grew with the pain in her head. She crawled back onto the narrow bed with no blanket and huddled in her sheepskin coat, trying to keep warm. Her right eye opened only halfway. The inside of her cheek felt raw where it had ground against her teeth when she was struck down.

Wynn was alone and imprisoned.

The soldiers had searched her before leaving and found the other dagger strapped to her wrist. They took it and both sheaths and her pack. After they left, she put her hands into her coat pockets for warmth and touched the one thing they had missed-the cold lamp crystal. She had left behind her working journals and notes at Byrd's inn, as well as Chap's talking hide.

She hoped that Magiere and Chap had escaped, and felt ashamed for screaming out the instant she was in trouble. Her companions would not be able to get her out. Darmouth knew who they were and had set a trap for them. She saw no way for her companions to reach her without being captured. And she did not wish that to happen, even to save her.

Footsteps grew loud out in the hall. Wynn was uncertain whether to approach the door or hide behind the bed. Frozen, she remained huddled upon the bed, waiting.

"How dare you?" said a haughty female voice outside the door. "I am bringing the prisoner her supper."

"Lady Progae, I… I can't," replied a young male voice, stuttering with uncertainty.

Wynn sat up. The woman's name was familiar, but she could not remember where she had heard it.

"I've orders not to open the door," the man continued, "Lieutenant Omasta said-"

"Do you know who I am?" the woman asked. "I will soon be the matron of this keep. I do not forget a face. Now open the door!"

A moment of silence followed, and then a rattling at the lock. The door swung inward.

Grasping its handle was a young soldier no older than twenty, and likely less. A small-boned woman stood in the opening. She had pale skin with dark hair cut above her shoulders and a velvet ribbon around her throat. She held a wooden tray with a clay bowl and pewter tankard.

It was the same woman who had stopped Darmouth from stepping on Wynn's face.

Lady Progae stepped past the anxious guard, and her glare encouraged him to close the door quickly. The instant it was shut, she put the tray on the floor and fumbled beneath her voluminous skirt.

Wynn watched closely but stayed on the bed. Lady Progae removed a canvas sack tied about her waist with a bit of rope and placed it on the floor with gentle care.

"We have little time," she whispered. "That boy outside may be easy to cow, but if I stay too long, he will call for a superior."