"Do you think you can climb up?" Tanis indicated the thirty-foot rock face above them. "Or should I leave you and bring back help?"

"Leave me?" Gilthanas echoed, easing to his feet and reaching up for the first handhold. "I'd be remiss in my duties if I let you escape."

"Escape?" Tanis murmured. The stone ledge, loosened further by their movements, shuddered again.

But the call to duty seemed to have given the neophyte guard strength, for he was doing a passable job of clambering up the cliff, though the ankle-length robe hampered his efforts somewhat. Finally, Gilthanas tucked the hem of the robe into his belt, which made it easier for him to climb. It did, however, delay Tanis's departure from the slab, which showed more signs of weakness. Nervously, Tanis waited until Gilthanas had climbed above the half-elf's head, then he followed, using the same handholds and footholds that his elven cousin had.

The escape prospect that had seemed hopeless in the murk of night turned out to be arduous but possible in the daylight.

Half an hour later, Gilthanas helped Tanis over the edge of the precipice. The last scramble loosened a medium-size boulder, which slipped over the edge with a scraping noise and bounced off the slab where the two had spent the night. The slab creaked, then tipped further, then slowly came loose from the cliff and dropped, turning, through the clear air to the river below.

In the distance, the drums gave one last roll and ceased.

"The Melethka-nara has begun," Gilthanas said. "Porthios is in the chamber far beneath the palace. Now the ordeal begins. I have three hours to get to the corridor between the underground chamber and the Tower." Still, Gilthanas stood quietly, gazing to the west, and Tanis knew he was in the chamber with his brother, in his mind's eye.

"Gilthanas," Tanis said. "Did you see your attacker's face?"

The elf wrenched his attention from Qualinost and looked at Tanis. He then shook his head and began moving toward the ravineside path. "It was dark. He was hooded. Did you see him?"

Tanis shook his head and explained what had happened between his escape from the palace and his dive off the cliff. He diverted Gilthanas from his trek toward the path, returning to the crevasse that Flint had disappeared into. Tanis shouted for the dwarf; he tossed pebbles down the slender opening to see if he could tell by sound how far his friend might have fallen. There was no reply, and Tanis was too large to fit into the hole.

"We have to hurry," Gilthanas urged.

Tanis, still not sure he should leave Flint, hesitated. Gilthanas swiftly reached over and drew Tanis's sword from his scabbard. It never occurred to the half-elf to stop the cousin he trusted-then suddenly Tanis was facing the point of his own blade. His mother's pendant formed a spot of silvery light on the hilt. Forest birds continued to chatter around the pair as though nothing were amiss.

"What are you doing?" Tanis whispered.

"You're my prisoner," Gilthanas said formally. "You've violated an order of the Speaker. It's my sworn duty as a ceremonial guard to arrest you and return you to Qualinost for judgment."

Tanis glanced again at the sword that Flint had made for him, then up at Gilthanas. The serious look on his cousin's face squelched any protest, Tanis pondered the situation. He was stronger and larger than his slight cousin, and he had a dagger. Tanis knew he could overpower Gilthanas, even if his cousin was armed with the half-elf's sword.

But then what would he do? Tie up Gilthanas and leave him here unguarded? Such a prospect might be acceptable nearer to Qualinost, with folk about, but the area around the Kentommenai-kath was deserted. Reluctantly, silently vowing to return, Tanis allowed Gilthanas to lead him away from the crevasse.

The chute was a ventilation shaft, Flint decided. He looked straight up, about twenty-five feet. Striving to avoid straining his tender shoulder, the dwarf angled his stocky body through the opening and crawled into the chute, which was about as wide as a barrel of ale-a wistful thought that Flint quickly squelched. He stood atop the litter of old pine cones and dirt; near the wall lay the desiccated skeleton of something about the size of a raccoon. He tried not to think of the animal dying down here, however many years ago.

The dwarf saw a circle of light at the top, with a few spruce branches waving far above that. He searched for handholds-no luck. The shaft may have been wide enough for him to inch his way up by bracing his shoulders on one side and his feet on the other, but his shoulder was too weak; his attempts only landed him with an "oof!" on the spongy bottom of the chute.

"Reorx!" he said softly. Then, louder, "Reorx's hammer!" He sat, disconsolate, at the shaft's bottom. His fingers traced the scars that stoneworkers had etched into the walls millennia ago-T-shaped chisel marks. The shaft's artisans were long dead now, probably plying their craft with Reorx in the afterlife. Flint examined one of the T-scars; he'd seen a mark just like it on Lord Tyresian's forearm. Unbidden, the sight of Eld Ailea lying dead before her fireplace came to Flint's mind again: The exposed calf, the purple skirt, the sleeve pushed up to her elbow. The "T," the scar, the heir, he recalled…

The force of the realization brought Flint's nodding head up so fast that he cracked it on the stone behind him.

"The scar, the tea, the heir," he whispered. He'd made the same mistake with "T" that he'd made with "air." He remembered, now, after the attempt on his life, taking the cup of tea from Miral, and the way Ailea had later administered one of her own potions, causing him to vomit. Then, several days later, the mage had asked Flint whether his medicinal tea had had any effect-minutes before they'd received Ailea's message that she understood Lord Xenoth's death.

The mage had given him poisoned tea! And Ailea had realized it. Yet Ailea had taken the time to mull over the situation before making an accusation. Then, when she was sure, when some last bit of information had snapped into place, she had excitedly sent a message to Flint-who had immediately shared it with… the killer!

"Reorx, help me!" the dwarf prayed as he scrabbled through the debris at the bottom of the shaft, flinging pine cones aside in his search for anything that would help him.

If he was correct, Porthios, the Speaker, Gilthanas, and Laurana would not survive the day.

In the middle of his search, as though Reorx had heard his call and sent the most unlikely rescuer possible, Flint heard a mule bray. Suddenly the light dimmed, and Flint looked up. Something was blocking the chute's opening. Instead of out-of-focus pine boughs, the dwarf now saw a grotesque muzzle, two ears nearly as long as his leg, and a pair of brown eyes steaming with passion.

"Fleetfoot!" He stood. "You wonderful animal!" The creature blinked. "I'm still in Qualinesti!"

He never thought he'd see a day when the sight of his mule would bring tears to his eyes. What particularly thrilled him, however, was the ten feet of chewed rope attached to her collar. The elves had laughed when he'd fashioned a collar for a mule; now he'd have the laugh on them. A bridle never would have held.

Except that he was still fifteen feet short of the rope that dangled in the shaft while Fleetfoot snorted above.

Flint took stock. He had flint and steel, hammer, dagger, and rope ladder. The ladder probably would reach from the top to the bottom of the shaft, but the mechanics of setting up a limp rope ladder from the bottom seemed hopeless.

Fleetfoot brayed again. The sound reverberated in the stone chute, nearly deafening Flint.