The Juramona Militia cheered Tol’s arrival. The noise brought Tylocost out of his tent, and he bowed to his captor-commander.

Drink was brought. Tol gulped cider as Tylocost apprised him of the discovery of the Dom-shu prisoners and Zala’s father.

The wooden cup fell from Tol’s gloved hand. “Miya is here? And Chief Voyarunta?”

“So I am told. Is Kiya well? I’m surprised she isn’t with you.”

Tol said only that Kiya was well and was coming later with Egrin and the main body of the army. In truth, she had been profoundly affected by her experience at the Isle of Elms. Tol had told her to remain behind and watch out for Egrin, and she hadn’t objected. Oddly, she seemed sad, as though the slain nomads were her own kin and not the enemy.

Tylocost had little faith the kender could prevail against an entire city garrison, but Tol didn’t share these sentiments. The kender, he said, could be a valuable asset to Zala-if the erratic little folk remembered they were on a rescue mission and not in Caergoth to “find” interesting things.

Tol glanced at the eastern sky. It was well past midnight, but daybreak was still marks away. Nevertheless, he made his next decision quickly.

“Muster your troops, General. We go to Caergoth.”

“My lord? You intend to force an entry with only five hundred Riders and a few thousand foot soldiers?”

Tol smiled grimly. “I don’t plan to force anything,” he said. “The governor will invite us in.”

Chapter 19

The Caergoth archers loosed a single volley into the rebellious prisoners. Three of the Dom-shu went down, and Chief Voyarunta received an arrow in the upper thigh. Grunting, he broke off the fletched end, pushed the shaft on through, and yanked it free of the hard flesh of his leg. The Dom-shu, with other prisoners, formed a human ladder pushing against the fence. Miya and a dozen captives climbed the tangle of limbs to the top of the cage. Their swift progress unnerved the archers, who shifted their aim to pick off the prisoners as they reached the top of the spiked fence. They never let fly the second volley. A barrage of brickbats and paving stones struck them, knocking some flat and spoiling the aim of the rest.

The sergeant of the guard whirled to see who dared interfere with his men. On the steps of the Temple of Corij were more than a dozen short figures. He took them for children until several in front bent over and bared their bottoms. All heckled the soldiers in loud, high-pitched tones.

“Kender!” the sergeant bellowed. “You men there! Get those stinking-!”

A heavy weight landed on his back, driving him face-first to the pavement. It was Miya. She stepped off the unconscious man and said mockingly. “Thank you for breaking my fall!”

Although Chief Voyarunta’s leg was bleeding, he had taken his place among his men at the base of the human ladder. When he saw his daughter outside, he shouted for Zala’s short sword and tossed it to her through the bent bars. She caught it deftly and hurried to free him and the rest.

Luin’s Field was in full uproar. Buoyed by the success of the Dom-shu, the rest of the captives were storming the fence. Guards rushed from one point of crisis to another. Prisoners threw rags and blankets over the spikes along the top of the barrier, climbed over, and dropped to the ground. Kender darted through the confusion, tripping soldiers, or pelting them with rocks. Mounted warriors tried to charge the escapees, but instead found themselves fighting to control their horses as kender menaced the animals with stolen torches. No horse would charge into fire. The riders were set upon by throngs of prisoners, dragged from their mounts, and stripped of arms.

The sole entrance to the condemned prisoners’ cage was on the opposite side from the Temple of Corij. Miya fought her way to it through the mob. It was secured by a crossbar as wide as Miya’s waist, and kept in place by a thick black chain. No one had dared climb the gate. It was studded on both sides with sword-sharp bronze barbs.

Miya regarded the gate helplessly. The short, thin sword in her hand was of no use against either the massive crossbar or the chain.

“Need help, lady?” said someone, tapping her elbow.

She turned. Four soot-stained kender stood behind her. The one who’d spoken added, “I’m Curly Windseed, at yer service, and this is Cuss, Juniper, and Fancy.”

“Get this gate open, quick!” she told them. The prisoners had to be freed before the city garrison arrived.

“Sure. Fancy, you got that bar?”

The tallest of the kender pulled a thick metal rod from his collar. It was a straight iron prybar, and evidently had seen a great deal of use. Fancy put one end in the chain and proceeded to wind the bar around and around, binding the chain in the process.

“Lend a hand, big lady,” said the smallest kender, the one called Cuss.

With Miya and the kender pulling and straining for all they were worth, the chain finally snapped. Prisoners rushed forward, and the heavy crossbar was thrown aside.

Before Miya could move, a wall of escapees surged against the gate, swinging it open and almost knocking her fiat. She held onto a gatepost while the torrent flowed past. Of the helpful quartet of kender, there was no sign.

Once the flow of prisoners thinned, Miya saw Zala run into the open pen, calling her father’s name.

Miya yelled, “Your father’s in the shanty. He was too sick to stay out in the open!”

Together they raced across the rapidly emptying compound. Zala’s father lay under a makeshift lean-to. A gray stubble covered his face. His eyes were rheumy and dull.

“Papa!” Zala said, grasping him by the shoulders. “Papa, I’m here. You’re safe!”

“Hurudithya,” the old man whispered. “I knew you’d come!”

Miya looked a question at her, and Zala shook her head. “I was named after my mother,” she explained. “I don’t use often.”

The clatter of iron-shod hooves warned them the city garrison was on its way. Supporting Kaeph between them, Zala and Miya crossed the empty prison compound and quickly moved out the gate.

The great square of Luin’s Field was almost empty. The freed prisoners had not lingered, and neither had the kender. Miya helped Zala get her father to the steps of the Temple of Corij. Leaving them there, the Dom-shu woman raced back to the prison cage to look for her own wounded father. However, save for a few unconscious guards and slain prisoners, the cage was empty.

Miya called for her father, but her cries were lost in the growing thunder of approaching horses. She ran back to the Temple of Corij.

Zala and her father were not where she’d left them.

With a low cry of frustration, Miya dithered on the temple steps. Where was everyone? Where was her father?

A diminutive figure in a brown surcoat came down the steps toward her. His head was covered by a brown hood.

“This way, friend,” he said, holding out a hand. “Enter the sanctuary of Corij.”

Corij, god of war, was served by a priesthood of soldiers and former soldiers. This little person could hardly be one of them. Miya spun him around and tugged back the hood of his vestment.

The Dom-shu found herself staring at a brown, leathery face seamed by hundreds of wrinkles. It was not a visage easily forgotten.

“Queen Casberry!” she exclaimed. Who wasn’t in Caergoth tonight?

“You better lift those big feet!” the old kender said, sprinting nimbly up the steps.

Casberry led Miya through the temple’s open portico. Burning candles lit the dark interior and spread a musky scent. A crowd of people huddled among the thick columns. Among them, Miya was relieved to see, was her father, as well as his warrior escort, the half-elf Zala, and her ailing parent.