"Tell him," Magiere insisted.

"What is this about?" Emel demanded. "I have had enough secrets for one night."

Magiere answered when Leesil remained silent. "We think Byrd is planning to assassinate Darmouth."

"Magiere!" Leesil snapped.

"And he has a good chance of succeeding," Magiere continued, "with some skilled assistance."

Leesil sighed. There was nothing left for it but to tell Emel everything. "Your tyrant master has to be warned… and protected. If he dies now, your petty nobles will slaughter everyone in their paths in trying to take his place. Or the other province rulers will swarm in, trying to do the same."

Emel was silent for a moment, his gaze shifting suspiciously between Leesil and Magiere. "You should have told me this earlier, before we left the city."

"Don't tell me you could've done something," Leesil snapped back at him. "You wouldn't have lived long enough. Byrd's not some penny-grubbing informant, and he wouldn't have given you one blink to draw your sword."

Magiere leaned back against the tunnel wall in frustration. "The only reason he helped us was to find this tunnel. He's gone, and that means he's in a hurry to put his scheme into motion."

Emel fell silent, watching both of them with a bit more confusion than suspicion, but he finally glared at Leesil alone.

"You!" he said. "I can guess the things you did for Darmouth in your day-no worse than what's whispered of those Mondyalitko always in his shadow. Why would you care what happens to anyone here?"

Leesil's head felt like it would split. The pressure vented at Emel.

"All you want is your prized consort," he shot back, his voice growing more strained with each word. "How many times did you close your eyes and grovel for Darmouth, while others suffered and died? Don't you dare question my motives."

Emel's features became more pronounced in the lantern light as every muscle in his face clenched and held tight in suppressed anger.

"Is there anyone inside we can trust?" Magi ere asked abruptly, and Emel's hard gaze shifted to her. "What about that lieutenant, Omasta?"

"Omasta?" Emel blinked and pushed reddish hair back off his forehead. "Yes, he would see to his lord's safety."

"And what's Darmouth holding over his head?" Leesil asked bitterly.

"Nothing," Emel replied in kind. "He is Darmouth's bastard son."

Magiere stood up straight. "What?"

"Darmouth brought back some woman from a raid into the west, the province of Lukina Vallo," Emel said, and waved aside any more questions. "I his was long ago, and I do not recall her name. He put her up in a cottage and eventually lost interest in her. One night I went with him to her home to reclaim personal items left behind. We found only the boy, Omasta, for his mother had died of fever. I persuaded Darmouth to take the boy to the barracks, let him live there as a servant for the lower officers. Years later he distinguished himself in the ranks, and he still sees Darmouth as a savior… because of what I did. Any mention of assassination will set him to protecting his father at all costs. He will close the city down and start making arrests, including any outsider who warned him."

Magiere closed her eyes. "That's the end of it. We are on our own."

Leesil turned away. It wasn't surprising for a bastard son to crave any favor or position of note in place of a father's open recognition.

"We can't go after Byrd," Leesil said. "Once inside, we'll do what we can to leave a warning or stop him ourselves. First we find Wynn… and Hedi Progae."

Chap was quiet during this whole exchange, and Leesil found the dog sniffing about the tunnel's end.

Rather than a hinged door, the entire end wall was thick solid wood beams held together with iron straps lightly marred by rust and age. It seemed too solid, perhaps having been replaced over the years. A quick inspection revealed that it slid down along grooves in the tunnel's side walls and was raised into a ceiling slot by a set of chains dropping out of holes in the ceiling's stone.

'Too easy," Magiere said over Leesil's shoulder.

"No," he answered. "Just a draft-door… something to pass through quickly… and maybe block off afterward."

He knelt down with the lantern and heard Magiere step closer. He tipped the lantern to direct its light to the lower left corner of the wooden portal. A bar of aged steel was mounted against the bottom. It was so dark it melded with the wood and stone without the light shining upon it.

"Slide bolts," he explained. "On both sides. Easy to kick into place and seal the door. Most wouldn't notice these, if they didn't already know they were here. Pursuing forces have to batter down the portal from the inside, should they find it." He ran his hand over the wood. "The passage beyond is likely steep, narrow stairs leading up, making it difficult to use even a small ram to bring it down. A simple and efficient design."

Leesil stood up, gripped the dangling chain, and pulled. It came down more easily than expected, and the wooden portal scraped along the wall channels up into the ceiling. Somewhere in the ceiling or walls there was a counterweight doing most of the work.

As he'd guessed, a steep stone staircase on the other side led upward and was just wide enough for one person. Each step was deep enough for only his boot, from toe to heel. He climbed upward, and Magiere followed. Farther behind he heard Chap's claws on the steps and glanced down once to see Emel's glowering face in the lantern's dim light as the baron followed last.

At the top, Leesil came upon bare stone blocking his way.

"Now what does your expertise tell you?" Emel whispered.

"Just wait," Magiere replied, and her slipping patience was plain in her voice.

Leesil traced the mortared stones with his fingers. However it opened, it had to be simple for anyone fleeing the keep. Any mechanism had to stand the wear of moisture over the years. Rails, hinges, and mechanized devices wouldn't work, and would be visible from his side of the wall. He pulled out a stiletto and tested the cracks.

The stones were chiseled to fit like huge bricks. He found a crack between two at the left side where there was no mortar at all. He checked the top of the wall. The line between the top row of stones and the ceiling was completely unmortared.

Leesil handed Magiere his lantern, and she pulled his toolbox out of its makeshift rope straps on his back. He removed a thin hookwire from the foldout panel lid and handed the box back to her. She tucked it into the ropes again. Leesil slipped the wire into the crack above the top row of stones.

The wire strut slid all the way in until he held its end with only his fingertips. He worked along the crack, slipping it in and out again and again. Then it jammed to a stop, sinking only an inch or more near the wall's midpoint.

Leesil shifted the wire back and forth, feeling it scrape on something metallic. He pulled the wire out and tucked it into the back of his wrist sheath.

"It pivots," he said. "Get ready. We won't know what's on the other side until it's too late."

Leesil put his shoulder against the wall's left side and pushed. At the sound of grating stone, Magiere reached around his chest and flattened her hand against the wall to assist.

It pivoted at the center, just as he'd expected. A thick metal rod must have been run through the wall's midpoint. The side he pushed spun inward while its opposite end turned outward. He dropped to a crouch, stiletto in hand, and looked through the opening on his side.

There was an empty room with more stone walls. It was so small there was barely enough room to lie down on the floor. In the far wall was a stout wooden door with a metal-shuttered peephole. This room was most likely a cell for prisoners.