analyzed every alternative, even as she swallowed the realization that Markam was right. There was no safer place to hide Tao but where few Tassagons dared tread.
But General Uhr-Tao in the ghetto?
Dread coursed through her with the sense that this was a rash, even suicidal move. For centuries, only the Kurel had kept the fires of science and technology burning. Many of the precious, secret volumes that other humans had long forgotten, the last existing links to the origins of the founders of their world, were hidden within the ghetto. Within the Log of Uhrth was the very prophecy that directed her actions now. Yet, could she justify bringing a Tassagon Uhr-warrior within reach of that precious book?
She felt as if she were sliding toward a cliff, grasping for a way to stop her fall, but finding no way to keep from plunging over the edge.
“Let’s not be rash.” She made fists behind her back as if that would somehow contain her anxiousness. “The army and also the common people love him. This could cause a spontaneous uprising. There could be violence in the streets, Tassagonian against Tassagonian, not just against Kurel.” While she wanted Xim deposed, her Kurel sensibilities had always insisted a new king gain the throne in a nonviolent fashion. A peaceful revolution. The events now spinning out of control made her palms sweat with the dread of having to explain her role in any violence to the Kurel elders. “We need to be in charge of when and how Xim is removed from the throne.”
Markam agreed with a firm nod. “Tao’s escape will give the people hope. It will tide them over, and buy us time.”
“And make Uhr-Tao a folk hero. Xim won’t like it.”
“Precisely. He’ll focus on Tao instead of the army left in his possession. This buys us time, as well.”
“All this buying of time,” she snapped. “We’re racking up quite a debt. At some point, we’re going to have to pay what we owe.”
“One always has to pay, Elsabeth. One way or the other.” A chill ran through her with the fatalistic turn to his voice.
“An Uhr-warrior in the ghetto…” A hunter let loose in the midst of the flock. Her heart drummed a warning. Swallowing, she stared straight down the hallway to the classroom and pretended she didn’t hear it. Remember your vow. “I’ll have to let the elders know. If I’m caught harboring the king’s number-one fugitive, there will be severe consequences, including banishment. And when I tell them, they may order him to leave.”
“You’ll advocate for him.”
“It’ll take more than that. He’ll have to fit in. His commitment to following our ways will have to advocate for him.” Elsabeth groaned silently, imagining the training this would require.
“Tao will cooperate,” Markam assured her. “He’ll understand the reasoning behind his asylum.”
“In my home. He’ll have to live with me.” No other option existed. She had to be the one to take him in. By Uhrth, she would be personally responsible when she brought the Butcher of the Hinterlands to live amongst her people.
A Kurel bookworm sheltering a Tassagon Uhr-warrior.
Mercy.
Remember what you’re fighting for, what all of us are fighting for. The fate of humanity seemed to be falling more and more squarely on her shoulders with every word they spoke. She took a steadying breath and turned to Markam. “I assume you’ve thought of the best way to get him out without anyone noticing.”
Markam’s eyes glinted craftily. “With a little polishing, yes.” Together, they cobbled together the plan to free the kingdom’s most important prisoner. It was outrageous, the idea of sneaking him out under everyone’s noses—madly so—and it just might work.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TAO SAT HUNCHED OVER on the floor, his ears alert for the opening of the dungeon door as he hammered a metal button torn from his uniform with a chunk of stone. His fingers were bloodied, his concentration intense, as he fashioned a key.
He held the flattened piece of metal up to the pitiful light of a smoky torch. The button was relatively malleable, but it had taken hours to craft the correct shape. This was his second attempt, after having nearly broken the key by rushing. Spotting the bent seam, he went back to work, crouched in the play of torchlight on the filthy floor, dashing away the sweat dribbling in his eyes with the back of his arm.
He’d unlock the cell door, but leave it closed, and wait for a guard to come check on him. He’d surprise and disarm the guard, leave him hog-tied and make his way up to the next level’s sealed door wait for a guard to open it, overcome the man, go to the next door and repeat. The part where he got out of the palace was still vague, but had a lot to do with changing into a guard’s uniform and running like hell. Not the best-laid plan, but it beat sitting here until someone else figured out what to do. No matter what Markam promised, one didn’t advance by waiting on the actions of others. Men made their own destinies.
After some chipping away at the edges, Tao deemed the sliver of metal ready for another test. He limped to the cell door on stiff legs, stretched his arm through the bars and contorted his wrist toward the lock, then slipped the key in and jiggled, trying to play it just right to unhinge the crude mechanism inside.
A scrabbling sound came from deep within the shadows at the opposite end of the dungeon from the door. Rats. Were they coming back to see if he’d been served dinner yet? “A waste of time, fellows,” he said, hearing hoarseness in his voice. “No one’s been by all day.” No food, no water.
No Markam.
Tao worked the key, taking care not to snap the delicate piece. He wiggled the key the rest of the way into the lock and turned. The clank when the mechanism gave way was just about the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.
A distant sound like a heavy metal grate dragging over stone yanked his attention back outside the cell. That was no rodent. The twang of a bow took him by surprise. Before he could fully process what had happened, a wet rag had soared past on an arrowhead and doused the torch nearest him. Two more arrows extinguished the rest, plunging the dungeon into darkness.
With the memory of the Furs’ eerie howls preceding an attack in his mind, Tao scoured the blackness for enemies. If these people had a way in, they had a way out. As soon as they came close enough for him to see how many he was dealing with, he’d make his move to take them. He’d have to be accurate, and quick. If he was captured and dragged back here, he was going to hang. Of that he was certain.
“Friendly, not hostile,” a female voice assured him tersely, as any soldier would do coming unexpectedly upon another squad. “We’ll get you out—if you’re still interested.”
“I sure as hell don’t plan on staying here until judgment day.” Blindly, he grabbed the bars. “If you’ve got a torch, light it.”
“There’s a certain way we have to handle this, General, and you being in charge isn’t it. We’ll get you out, but you must do exactly as I tell you to do.”
He’d never taken orders from a woman before.
She apparently mistook his silence. “You must do exactly as I tell you,” she repeated.
“Do you think me mad, woman? I will do as you say.”
A
