The two women pulled Garth up and started off, half walking, half swimming with the current. As they passed beneath another grate a spear slammed down, nearly catching Hammen in the shoulder.

“The key, where’s the damn key!” a voice raged overhead, and then they were past him. The sewer sloped downhill, the current picking up speed, following the gentle drop downward from the palace, which rested on the highest ground in the center of the Plaza.

They reached the mesh of steel bars set across the sewer, marking the edge of the palace. Grunting and cursing, they squeezed through the narrow opening that Hammen and Norreen had spent hours cutting out and then weaved past the snares and traps which had been cunningly set into the sewer wall, ignoring the skeletons from previous attempts at rescue which had failed, most likely years ago, and now hung impaled against the wall.

They passed an opening to their right and then a second, moving now in pitch-darkness. Far ahead they could hear the echoing voices of the prisoners Hammen had released.

“Why’d you let them go?” Varena asked sharply.

“It’ll throw the chase off,” he lied in response.

“Third on the right,” Hammen announced. “Here it is.”

He was almost swept past and hung desperately to the side of the opening until Norreen reached back to pull him in. Far up the corridor a thin flicker of light was visible, while from overhead, through a storm opening, could be heard the braying of trumpets. A thin shaft of daylight shone down through the opening and above the trumpets could be heard the shouting of the mob.

“One-eye! One-eye!”

Already word has spread.

Now fighting against the current, they continued up the sewer, passing two more openings as the level of sewage and muck dropped till it was down to ankle level.

Varena suddenly extended her hand. Ten fathoms straight ahead came a rasping of metal on stone, and a lantern was lowered.

Varena motioned for them to lie down. Hammen followed her lead, his face in the muck, and watched as a head appeared, upside down, looking first up the sewer and then back toward them. A loud clamoring could be heard. The guard looked straight at them and started to point, as if having seen them. With a loud cry he suddenly plunged headfirst into the sewer, smashing into the lamp, which went out in the filthy water.

“Come on!”

Varena got up and moved forward as they reached the unconscious guard. A wild melee was breaking out overhead, the mob shouting and roaring, fighting with the Grand Master’s warriors.

Just as Hammen stepped past the opening overhead, he looked up and could see legs, people running, struggling. Another warrior fell through the hole and landed feetfirst. Cursing, he started to stand up, his cry of alarm cut short by Norreen’s blade.

They pressed on up the narrowing sewer, following Hammen as he cut left, then right, then left again.

Finally Hammen stopped.

“This is it,” he whispered.

They were at a juncture where four lines came in together, illuminated by a thin narrow grate directly overhead. One of the lines was dry and inside of it four oilskinned bundles were stacked along with a dozen heavy skins of water.

Norreen and Varena gently laid Garth down.

Hammen crawled up by his side and looked down at his face.

Garth tossed back and forth as if caught in a fevered dream, mumbling softly.

“Father, no, Father… Father.”

Varena crawled up beside him and, reaching into her satchel, pulled out an amulet and laid it on Garth’s brow. A thin shimmer of light haloed his face and, ever so gradually, the drawn lines of pain eased away. Hammen watched in amazement as the swelling of Garth’s battered face subsided, the cuts from Zarel’s ringed hand drew shut, and finally the wound to his shoulder closed over. Garth sighed and then almost seemed to fall in upon himself and, for a moment, Hammen thought Garth was dead, his spirit having slipped away.

“Let him rest for now,” Varena whispered. “Keep an eye on him.”

She crawled back out into the junction of sewer lines and casually started to strip off her clothes, Norreen following her and doing the same.

She looked back and saw two eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness.

“Hammen, so help me,” Norreen snapped, “this is the one thing I objected to in all of this.” And taking her cape, she managed to drape it across the opening where he sat with Garth.

He started to move quietly forward to sneak a peek.

“Hammen, if I see your ugly face, you’re a blind man,” Varena said quietly.

“How about just one eye?”

“Take care of Garth! Wash him up.”

Cursing softly, he struggled to pull off Garth’s stinking wet clothes. Getting his trousers off, he started on the bloody tunic, finally taking a dagger to cut it away, while on the other side of the curtain he could hear the two women splashing water over themselves to wash off the filth.

“Damn! You think there’d be a little gratitude in this world,” he hissed as he finally cut Garth’s tunic free.

And then he froze. There was the thin tracing of a scar running down the length of Garth’s right arm, and at the sight of it tears filled Hammen’s eyes, coursing down his filthy cheeks.

The curtain was pulled back and, startled, he looked up to see Varena looking at him while toweling her hair.

“Come on, let me help you,” she said quietly and he wiped his hand across his face to hide his tears.

She unstoppered another skin and poured it over Garth, using the towel to wipe the filth off. Norreen joined him and they soon had him cleaned. Hammen sat in silence, lost in thought.

“Well, you stink too. Now wash,” Varena directed. “We’ll dress him.”

Hammen, surprised, pointed at himself.

“Me?”

“You think you can walk around up there smelling like you do? It’s a dead giveaway! Now wash!”

“Go to the demons.”

Varena calmly raised her hand and a snap of pain hit Hammen.

“Damn it, that hurts!”

“Next time it’s twice as bad. Now wash!”

Cursing under his breath, he moved out into the junction and started to uncork a waterskin.

“Undress first.”

Hammen looked at them, gape mouthed.

“You’re kidding.”

The pain hit again and, true to her word, it was twice as bad.

Mumbling imprecation after imprecation, he pulled off his tunic and trousers.

“Everything,” Norreen said calmly.

He started to protest and Varena raised her hand.

“Well, give me some privacy at least!” he demanded as he struggled to raise the curtain back up.

Stripping the rest of the way, he started to wash, grimacing as the cold water splashed over him and the curtain fell.

Norreen and Varena looked at him and started to chuckle softly. Red-faced with rage and humiliation, Hammen turned around and they laughed even louder.

“Some ladies you turned out to be,” he snapped angrily as he finished, and Varena finally handed him a towel to dry off.

He quickly grabbed his bundle of clothes and changed, feeling uncomfortable as clean cloth rubbed against his scrubbed skin.

The two women turned their attention back to Garth, and drying him off, they dressed him in fresh clothes.

“So are you interested in him?” Varena asked, looking up at Norreen.

“He’s a good fighter. Though I didn’t admit it at the time, he saved me from getting stabbed in the back. I owed him.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Norreen looked down at Garth.

“He’s not of my clan.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“You certainly are interested,” Hammen interrupted, looking straight at Varena.

“It meant nothing,” she replied calmly, and Hammen chuckled.

“What a life. Two women dressing him together, one’s already slept with him and the other wants to. What a life.”

Norreen looked back coldly at Hammen.