Hedi stepped smoothly down the corridor, and Wynn could not help but duck her head. She glanced up every few steps, until Hedi halted just out or arm's reach of the guards.

i he one to the right appeared the most tired, with the half-closed eyes of someone too long on duty. Tall and lanky, he wore a leather hauberk that was at least clean and well made. The other on the left was an overweight, bristly-jawed soldier who smelled of ale even before he spoke.

"Lady?" he said. "Did you lose your way?"

Wynn saw only Hedi's back and the dagger behind it. Hedi turned her head toward the fat soldier, and the tall one became nervously alert. He straightened to attention with a worried side glance to his partner, who swallowed hard and cleared his throat.

"Lady," he repeated. "No one goes below without us being told to allow it. And there's nothing down there anyway."

Hedi lunged at the heavyset guard.

Wynn dropped the bag, and a muffled yowl came from within as it hit the floor. She glanced down, remembering Korey was inside. When she raised her eyes again, everything happened too quickly.

The bristly-jawed soldier toppled toward the corner with a strangled yelp. Hedi followed so close that she leaned into his chest. Her hands were tucked between herself and the soldier. His eyes filled with shock-then pain. Sharp whimpers escaped through his gritted teeth, and he clawed at something between himself and Hedi.

The lanky tall guard took a fast step toward Hedi's exposed back, reaching for his shortsword.

Wynn cocked back the candlestick with both hands. He turned toward her as she swung. For an instant the candlestick's wide base arched straight for his head.

It passed before his face, never touching him.

Wynn's good eye widened. The pain in her swollen one brought a sinking realization. Panic and hampered vision made her misjudge the swing.

In one movement the lanky soldier jerked out his shortsword and swung hard with his free hand. Wynn did nor see the fist that caught the blind side of her head.

Magiere stepped back from the stout door to let Leesil study it further. Emel had already shoved the twisting wall section back into place. She glanced at it repeatedly, half expecting it to grate open again with gray-clad Anmaglahk lunging out, stilettos in hand. Foolish, since Byrd had to get back inside the city before he could even contact them. She tried to shake the feeling off.

"I do not recognize this place," Emel said.

Leesil didn't look up. "Most who see its inside don't live long enough to return for another look."

"I meant I have been in the lower levels but not here," Emel growled back.

Magiere studied the door once more. There was no lock, only a peep slot with its metal panel closed from the outside. The door would swing outward, and so the hinges weren't accessible either.

"Shouldn't the keep's occupants have easy access back inside if needed?" she asked.

"Yes," Leesil answered, then sighed. "I'm missing something here."

He was frustrated, and Magiere wished she could help, but she didn't have his experience and skills. Even Chap could sniff about the room, checking every corner and crevice. All she could do was wait, and keep Emel from breaking Leesil's concentration.

Chap rumbled and traipsed over to Leesil's side. Two low woofs said he had found nothing worthwhile.

Leesil dropped to his knees and fingered the doorframe's stones. He finally sat back on his haunches, clenching his fists. When he reached around behind his own back, Magiere crouched to help him pull the toolbox from its makeshift harness.

"There has to be a proper way through this door," he said, opening the box. "But we've no time."

Magiere still didn't care for the sight of the silvery garrote lying therein amid his spare stilettos and a thick curved blade. She heard a muffled curse from behind her. Emel had seen the box's contents as well. She looked over her shoulder at his feet rather than into his eyes, making certain he kept his distance.

"If I can't open it from within," Leesil continued, "then I'll have to reach out somehow."

He took out the thick, curved blade and folded the box closed. Magiere returned the toolbox to its harness as Leesil stood up. He set the blade's point against the door above its handle and gripped the hilt with one hand over the other.

"Time to call attention to ourselves," he muttered.

Emel stepped close-too close for Magiere's taste.

"You are not serious?" he asked. "You will never cut an opening with that thing."

"Better hope otherwise," Leesil answered, and threw all his weight behind the knife.

He pulled the blade sideways toward the frame. The blade scored into the wood, and it made more noise than Magiere liked as it tore through the grain. Leesil cut a line slightly longer than the width of his hand. He repeated this several times, deepening the cut with each stroke, then moved up to work another cut a hand's length above the first one. Finally he used the blade's tip to chip and peel the woods top layer with the grain, digging out a rectangle between the two cuts. The process was difficult and noisy, and Leesil's brow began to sweat.

Magiere understood what he was up to and took the blade to relieve him. She worked inward until she'd gouged halfway through the door.

"Enough," Leesil said, and took the blade from her.

This time he worked at the top and bottom cuts without chipping more wood from the hollow they'd created. He finally stopped, tucked the hooked blade in his belt, and drew one of his winged blades. He set its tip into the hollow's center.

"If that didn't attract attention," he said, "then there's no one out there to hear this."

He slammed his weight behind the blade's crosswise handle.

The crack of wood made Magiere flinch as Leesil's punching blade sank in sharply. He jerked it back out, and Magiere leaned down to look into the hollow.

The wood had broken away on the outside, leaving a rectangular hole. Leesil crouched and slipped his arm through the hole and nearly up to his shoulder. Magiere heard scraping metal, followed by a click.

Leesil pushed the door open but stood there with a scowl, not stepping out.

"What's wrong?" Magiere asked.

"Nothing… just another obstacle I've removed for Byrd's Anmaglahk."

"No other choice," she said, and stepped past him.

The cell they exited was one among a row along a double-wide passage. They had been trapped in the last one at the back end. What passed for a lock was a metal slide bar with a pin, just enough to keep a prisoner inside but not requiring a key to the door. The place was silent, but Magiere still opened two of the other cells. Both were empty, and the door handles were thickly grimed by dust and damp air. This place had been left unattended and unused for a long while.

Leesil closed the cell door behind them and sheathed his winged blade. He did his best to press the popped chunk of wood back in place. It didn't stay, and Magiere grimaced as he licked the piece's rough side and smeared grime from the floor on it. He pressed it in again, and it held. No one would notice at a quick glance, unless they opened the door and the piece fell out.

Leesil walked ten paces to the far-end door with a larger barred window. The outer room beyond was dimly lit.

"Locked?" Magiere whispered, growing anxious.

Leesil gently pulled on the latch. The door opened, and Chap slipped by them into the next room, sniffing about with his nose in the air.

"Who taught you… your skills?" Emel asked.

By his tone Magiere suspected he already guessed the answer.

"Does it matter?" Leesil returned.

Magiere glanced back at the baron. Emel watched Leesil carefully, but his gaze shifted to her.