“Swacky, you’re too broad to crawl that tunnel,” Asgenar said, letting Larad digest the news. “Find someone else to go down and help Jayge. And a crowbar or chisel would be useful if you can find such tools in here.”

“We found an awful lot of stuff, Lord Asgenar. They’d settled in with nothing missing.”

“Thank you, Swacky. The tools, please, and as many men as needed to find that exit.” He took Larad by the arm and escorted him back to the main chambers.

The smallest room, which had only one entrance, was where the prisoners were being guarded. One of Larad’s men greeted the two Holders and returned the drawings. “There’re all here, and sixteen more, Lord Larad.”

“Any casualties on our side?” Larad asked, noticing bloody head wounds and other signs of injury among the prisoners.

“A broken bone or two when the avalanche caught people unawares. Them,” the trooper said contemptuously, “we mostly caught still in their bedrolls. There’s one over in that small room that you should speak to.” He nodded to his left, in the direction of the main hall of the complex, where one of Asgenar’s foresters stood guard. “And there’s some fresh klah in the pot,” he added, gesturing to the bigger hearth where a fire had been freshened and a huge kettle was slightly steaming. “They lived pretty good all right.”

Asgenar steered Larad toward the hearth, and a trooper sprang to serve them. Then they went to see the man the guard had mentioned.

When they entered the room he rose, smiling with obvious relief. “Did they escape after all?”

“I’ll ask the questions,” Larad said sternly.

“Certainly, Lord Larad.” He turned his head to nod politely at the Lemosan. “Lord Asgenar.” Then he waited.

“Who are you?” Larad asked after a long pause. The man showed not the slightest bit of tension or insolence.

“My name is Perschar, Lord Larad, a journeyman whom Master Robinton hoped could penetrate this band. I gather that someone finally sent you the sketches I’ve been dropping whenever and wherever I could. I’d swear Thella has eyes in the back of her head. Did she escape? Please, the suspense is very hard on my stomach.”

“Perschar? Would the name Anama mean anything to you?” Asgenar asked, pulling at Larad’s sleeve before the other could interrupt.

“Of course!” The man’s long face was wreathed with a happy smile. “Lord Vincet’s second daughter. I did her portrait, oh, far too many Turns back, I fear. She’ll be grown and married, with children of her own to be painted, I’ve no doubt.”

“He’s Perschar, all right,” Asgenar assured Larad. Taking a seat at the table, he noticed that Perschar had not been idle while waiting. There were more sketches.

“It was the only way I had of dropping information. Not that they suspected me, but it was as well not to raise any doubts whatsoever. The Lady Thella—”

“The woman is holdless,” Larad said harshly.

“Exactly her problem,” Perschar replied with some acerbity, then sighed. “She styled herself Lady Holdless, and, while not appropriate, as she did hold here—” His long hand made a graceful gesture indicating the room they were in. “—she was devilish quick, quite brilliant with her schemes—flawless almost, so I had to be cleverer still. Did she escape?” His eyes sought Asgenar’s, almost pleading, certainly urgent.

Asgenar nodded, disgusted. “We think so. But until we’ve reestablished communications with those outside, we can’t be certain.”

“We had every hole out of this warren covered,” Larad said, stalking about the small room.

“I heard the avalanche,” Perschar said in a lugubrious tone. “That means someone got out. I’d lay odds with a Bitran, she did. Unless you caught Giron or Readis. Those three used the right-hand rooms.”

“The guard said all but three of the faces in your invaluable drawings are accounted for—Thella, the dragonless man, and the heavyset man.”

“That’d be Dushik. Thella sent him off on some special affair as soon as we made it back here. So at least Readis is accounted for, if they’re the only ones missing. Yes, either Giron or Thella herself loosed that avalanche. She was rather taken with the notion. Had all of us working on it during the last Fall. Bloody cold work.” Perschar shivered dramatically. “Is there any more klah in the pot?” he asked hopefully.

It took just as long for the dragons to dig them out as it did for Perschar to discover, after he had drunk his klah, that Readis was not among the prisoners. And it took twice as long for Jayge to discover how to open the clever door.

“And there was where we underestimated Thella,” Asgenar said with as grim a smile as Larad’s. “Gone up a bit, you might say,” he added, unable to stifle the observation as he stared up the vertical tunnel through which escape had been effected. “Your charts were a trifle out of date, Larad.”

Larad cursed and Asgenar listened sympathetically.

Jayge had scrambled up the rungs of the ladder and come out well above the entrance stormed by the troops. “The avalanche was set off from here,” he hollered down. Both men clasped hands on their ears against the echoes his call set up. “A bronze dragonrider says that he’s sent out sweep riders. They can’t have gotten far on foot.”

Larad leaned disconsolately against the wall, shaking his head, and sighed at the futility of their efforts. “She knows how to use snowstaves. She’s very good at it.”

“We can send messages ahead to be on the lookout for three refugees. Send copies of Perschar’s sketches,” Asgenar said as Larad once more got down on hands and knees to navigate the low tunnel. “We’ve blocked up most of the caves we think she’s been using. She’s going to have a long cold trip before she finds any safety at all.” He saw Larad, just in front of him, shaking his head. “If we can get just a little cooperation from Sifer, Laudey, and Corman, surely someone will notice three such unusual people out and about at this time of year.”

Once they emerged from the tunnel, Larad strode purposefully through the rooms where troopers were already gathering up the more expensive-looking articles of clothing and miscellaneous items. Asgenar followed, storing up hopeful suggestions, racking his brains to think of some logical and ultimately successful course of action. It was ludicrous that they should have failed. Yet they had.

When Asgenar saw Larad making for the eating area, he paused, looking around for one of the Benden dragonriders. F’lar, F’nor, and three troopers, still busy jotting down notes on improvised slates, came out of the storage area of the cavern.

“I found the Kadross Hold grain. They’ve got stables back there, baled fodder in quantity, and supplies enough to eat as well as Benden Weyr does,” F’lar said, slapping his heavy fleece gauntlets against his leg. “What’re we going to do with those, anyway?”

“Whose hold does this place fall in, Larad? Yours or mine?” Asgenar asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Well, sort of. You’ve got all those mines, and I have trees, but trees don’t need much tending in the winter, and your mines can be worked year round.” Larad turned, a look of surprise on his face, but Asgenar felt that was an improvement on despair.

“I tell you what,” Asgenar went on. “Let’s leave them with enough to keep them going through the winter—what with the snowslide and all, I doubt they can get out, and I’m certainly not going to ask Benden dragons to give them the treat of their sordid lives. Let’s see who’s alive come spring.”

F’lar and F’nor found that solution amusing, as did the troopers, who tried to disguise their grins. At the last, a slight smile tugged at Larad’s mouth, and he began to regain his usual manner.

“I think I had better leave someone in charge, after all,” he remarked. “Thella has really improved this place—it’s isolated, but a stout holding.”