Delay gained us nothing. I hurried back as fast as was silently practical and scolded myself sternly as I felt optimism rising irresistibly within me. I had a route out, we had clothes and weapons, and I was starting to think we might actually have a chance of getting out of this bear-pit.

'Be realistic,' I told myself. 'Whose bell are you ringing? What you've got now is a chance of dying on your feet with a blade in your hand and that's the best you can say.'

Maybe so but that would be a cursed sight better than dying at Ice-man's hands with him ripping through my head, or under his tame torturer's irons. I shivered as I remembered some of the passages in Geris' writings, the bundle cold against my skin as if the inhumanity of the words had soaked into the very parchment.

CHAPTER TEN

Taken from:

The Last Work of Geris Armiger, Late Scholar of the University of Vanam

Prepared with annotations by Ornale Scrivener, his mentor and friend.

While incursions by the Elietimm into the lands of the western continent are comparatively recent, they have known of our existence since the battles for the lands of Kel Ar'Ayen and their historical record has a continuity we can only envy. The following letter was written by the Clan-chief of Blackcliff to the Clan-chief of Fishsands at some point in the two years between the death of Feorle the Last and the Anarchy of the Blood-Axes. The attitudes it illustrates do not seem to have changed to any great extent, up to and including the current generation:

The final failure of the priests and their magic has led many of the people to doubt the gods, my brother, but do not let yourself be swayed. We are the Hammers of Misaen and we must remain true. To be confined to these isles for so many years has indeed been hard, especially for those of us whose elders can remember tasting the sweet green of Kel Ar'Ayen. Do not forget that broad and fertile land, my brother, rather tell your grandfather to polish his memories and keep them bright, the mirror of Misaen's promise to us. Do not let doubt poison your mind. Misaen is testing us, refining us, scouring our mettle clean of the impurity that led to our downfall at the

hands of the accursed men of the Dawnlands. The gods remain true, Misaen remains the maker. He continues to bring fire from our mountains; shall we lei the fire in our hearts die? I shall not, nor my sons, nor my sons' sons, not until my line is extinguished in the cold ashes of the Last Storm. Our steel will be tempered in his fire, not shattered by the cold bite of the seas.

I make you this promise, a sacred vow on the graves of my forefathers who once trod the golden sands of the East. We will regain mastery over the Ocean. We will take the powers of mind and spirit from the puling priests who have betrayed us. We will travel to the east and throw down the cities of Kel Ar'Ayen until no stone is left standing upon another. We will travel to the west and hunt down the Tormalin invaders until their clans are scattered upon the winds.

The age of the priests is past; we are not children needing nursemaids. Misaen awaits an age of warriors who can wield swords of the hand and of the mind. Such warriors will have lands to conquer on either hand; the emptiness of Kel Ar'Ayen to fill with their sons and the rabbles of Tren Ar'Dryen to enslave. Do not think that Misaen has cast us down; he has not. Rather he has shown us our destiny and locked us away, like athletes before a contest, to make sure we train ourselves to obtain the victory and to deserve it.

It is curious that the Elietimm names for Tormalin all include a reference to'dawn' given their islands are themselves to the east. See Section 8 for further argument suggesting this race originated in the lands of the Mountain Men.

The Ice-man's Keep, Islands of the Elietimm,

3rd of For-Winter

I returned to our cell rapidly. The others were lying in a close huddle, Shiv's boots and a fold of tunic giving the impression of enough feet and heads for any curious guard. I saw them tense as I opened the lock.

'It's me!' I whispered and Aiten and Ryshad were on their feet at once.

I tossed Aiten his clothes; his initial gratitude dampened slightly when he found them more than a little moist and smelly.

'Where've you been?' Ryshad was dressing fast, ignoring the state of his breeches.

'The drains,' I said succinctly. 'We've got a way out.'

I looked past Ryshad to Shiv who was slowly relacing his boots. 'Are you up to hiding us for a short stretch? We need to get through a gate.'

Shiv looked up and grinned. 'I'm fit enough.'

I was relieved to see his eyes were focusing properly on me but his face still looked unhealthily drawn.

'Come on then.'

Aiten moved out, sword at the ready, and Shiv flexed his fingers in the way I'd come to realise was preparation for working magic as they covered the angle of the corridor while I worked on relocking the door. As I did so, I caught a glimpse of Geris' shrouded body and a sudden pang of grief made the picks slip in my nerveless fingers. What would these bastards do to him now? Bury him in the cold earth for the worms or just dump him in a midden? I wondered miserably. Why could they not use the cleansing of fire like civilised people?

Ryshad's firm hand on my shoulder made me jump.

'That's not Geris, Livak,' he said softly and I looked round into his sympathetic eyes. 'He's escaped already.'

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, then shook myself mentally and led the way into the nearest scullery where I had left the drain cover slightly askew. Once we had all climbed down into the drain, I breathed easier, despite the fetid smells, and concentrated on the job in hand.

Aiten cursed as he slipped, and his voice echoed harshly in the confined space. Ryshad hushed him before I had a chance to and we scrambled awkwardly onwards in comparative silence. I hoped no one was anywhere above to hear the scrapes of boot and sword when Ryshad met a narrow corner but it was too late to worry about that now.

I had to slow down as the others got disoriented in the blackness and for one awful moment became confused myself when I met a junction.

'Make a decision and stick to it, right or wrong,' I told myself silently and, not too many paces later, was rewarded with the sting of scraping my outstretched knuckles on the end wall of the drain. I could see a pale thread in the darkness showing where I had left a root of a plant wedged in the trap door. I breathed a deep sigh of relief. I was going to owe Drianon half my next year's profits at this rate.

'Ait? Shiv?' Ryshad's questing hand touched my shoulder and I grabbed at it. Sudden weakness plucked at my knees but his reassuring grip answered the tremor in my fingers and gave me new heart.

We wedged ourselves awkwardly into the cramped stone box.

'What sort of cover do we need and how long for?' Shiv worked his way round to stand next to me and we raised the lid of our drain cautiously together.

I pointed out the gateway and then the wall walk with the desultorily patrolling sentries. Shiv made a careful survey of the entire garden and nodded slowly.

'We'll need to get out one at a time, slowly. Once we're out, we can move faster. How long will the gate take you?'

'How long is a piss? I don't know, Shiv!'

'Sorry, stupid question. Let's wait until our friend in the dressy leathers is at the far end of the parapet then.'

The idle bastard took his own sweet time to move back along the wall but, once he was gone, I was first out, lying under the frost-wilted leaves of some crop still in the ground. The fresh smell of the cold, damp earth cleaned out my nostrils and I welcomed the scent of a little normality. Once we were all out and crouching like rabbits in a salad garden, Shiv drew some silent patterns in the dirt and nodded for us to move. It was a short dash to the shelter of the wall. No warning shout split the night to betray us.