The Last Warrior. Susan Grant

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 lantern sparked to life. Two faces floated in front of him. Tao squinted, trying to make out these strangers dressed in simple workers’ clothing—driver’s ware, roughly woven baggy trousers and shirts covered by black cloaks. One was a male, young, not much more than a boy, with dark gold skin and shaggy black hair. The other, most definitely female, with a pale oval face. Hair the color of a copper coin peeked out from under her cap. Like Elsabeth’s hair.

      Exactly like Elsabeth’s. The tutor. “You do more than teach children,” he observed.

      “My job description is expanding daily.” A key in her hand caught the light as she reached for the door.

      “It’s open.” He walked forward and pushed on it. The two Kurel gaped at him, and he held out an open hand with the key resting on his palm. “Uhrth helps those who help themselves.”

      A small nod from Elsabeth, the tiniest glint of admiration. “We’re going out through the spillway pipes,” she said. “No guard will think we’re that suicidal, to use what drains into the moat, and the tassagators. We’ll end up at the loading docks. There we’ll board a covered wagon. You’ll hide in back. Now, come. Hurry.”

      They set off running. Running for his life—with two Kurel running for theirs as well. For his sake.

      CHAPTER NINE

      THE KUREL LED TAO INTO a passage that led from the dungeons to the very bowels of the palace, where the air was so dense he imagined it could be sliced with a blade. There was barely enough light to see the pair with their black cloaks as they sprinted and then crawled through the ever-narrowing passageway. Here the scent of dampness was strong, and yet familiar. The odor brought him back to childhood, when danger was excitedly imagined, never imminent.

      Pipes, dead ahead.

      The boy unlatched a heavy iron grate, lowering it carefully. Torn spider webs draped the opening. Light from the lantern penetrated the tunnel only as deep as the length of a man. Tao helped the boy replace the grate after they slipped through the opening. Then they were on their way, the lantern flickering as it swung from the boy’s hand. The silence was as heavy as the air at this depth, the entire palace atop them, floor upon floor. The very thought threatened to turn him claustrophobic.

      Inside, their footsteps echoed unimaginably loudly after all their stealthy silence. “It’s slippery,” Elsabeth warned. “The muck is like ice.” She and the boy hesitated at a confluence of pipes, the boy holding the lantern high until Elsabeth found a marker they’d left and snatched it off the dank wall.

      “Keep to the right.” Tao knew the labyrinths of the drainage pipes as well as any formerly mischievous child raised in one of the noble families could. It had been years, but racing through the darkened passages, it came back as if it were yesterday. “I know the pipes well.”

      “That’s what Markam said.”

      “So, you’re in on his plan to free me. A Markam loyalist.”

      Her disdainful gaze sought him out in the gloom. “Markam is helping me—us. The Kurel. Any enemy of this king is an ally of ours. That’s why I’m helping you.” She looked him up and down, as if finding it difficult to absorb the very concept. “I also promised Markam.” She seemed no more pleased with that promise than she did helping him to hurt the king. “I’m going to hide you where no one will look,” she said. “The ghetto.”