fight your way out of here."

"I'd prefer not to," admitted Ramil.

"Then my people can show you the tunnels under the city. The resistance have been using them

for years to pass unnoticed and to smuggle people in and out."

"Thank you, that is most timely."

"And there's more. I bring news that is both good and bad."

"Yes?" Ramil looked puzzled.

"Fergox is on his way back."

Ramil slapped his thigh. "Brilliant!"

"For Gerfal perhaps, Prince, but not for us," Norling said soberly. "He's pulled back two thousand men and is making for us at high speed. And you can bet that he will not be in a very loving

mood when he gets here. It's not just you slaves that need to be worried: it's every man,

woman, and child in Tigral now. You can expect him within a fortnight, maybe earlier."

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"Then we'll be ready for him. He won't recognize his capital when he gets back." Ramil stood up and shook each of his commanders by the hand.

"There's no time to lose. We're moving headquarters. Take your men out of here under the

cover of darkness--the professor will show you the way. We attack at dawn. I'll see you all in the

palace tomorrow night. Don't be late to the party or I'll have to start without you."

Ramil watched his men file out, wondering just how many of them he would see again.

At dawn, bells began to ring all over Tigral. The meat market was on fire, the smell of frying pork

wafting enticingly over the lower city. Traders shut up shop and kept their families inside as the

streets descended into an anarchy of looting and burning. The Guild Hall went up in flames. Next

came the news that the fort was under attack; the Shoemakers' Street was reported to be a

running battle between the watch and rebels, animals released from their pens adding to the

confusion.

The officer in command of the troops surrounding the slave market waited for orders from the

City Guild. In contrast to the rest of the capital, the market was eerily calm. Eventually, a

messenger arrived from the city authorities.

"You're to take your men to restore order in the Cloth Market!" the man gasped. He'd run all the way from the burning Guild Hall and inhaled far too much smoke.

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"But what about the slaves?" the officer asked, gesturing towards the barricaded market. "You won't want them escaping and adding to the riots."

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The messenger shook his head in disbelief. "They're already out. Surely, you realize you're

guarding an empty cel ?"

The officer gulped, anticipating the court martial already. Knowing he would be blamed if this

was a ruse to let the slaves escape, he decided quickly that he was not going anywhere until he

had seen the evidence with his own eyes. He gestured roughly to his lieutenant.

"We're taking the slave market back and then proceeding to the Cloth Market," he announced,

sounding more confident than he felt.

With a heroic cry, he led his men over the barricades, bringing much noise and swinging of

weapons, only to be met with stony silence.

"You and you, search the buildings!" he barked, pointing at two of his most reliable officers. He could feel his authority ebbing away in the scornful looks of his men. "The rest of you, form up.

We are going to teach those filthy slaves a lesson."

Yelena, lying on a roof top of a nearby house, grinned as the merchants were led out of their

cage, blinking as they stepped into the sunlight. She blew a farewell kiss to her pet, then

slithered out of sight.

The resistance network had a back door into the palace, thanks to the offices of a sympathetic

cook in

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the massive kitchen complex. So many people came and went to supply the appetite of the

court that an extra delivery was not likely to raise suspicions.

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Ramil, Gordoc, and two men waited outside the walls, sides of stolen meat on their shoulders,

their weapons hidden in the carcasses. A guard came to check them over.

"Delivery for kitchen, sir," said the cook, a little man prone to sweating when nervous, as he was now. Ramil wished the man would stop wringing his hands; he would give them away if he

carried on like that. "I'm making the First Wife's favorite for a dinner party. She's particular

about wanting it fresh."

The guard body-searched the butcher's boys before waving them through.

"Don't expect her party will be going ahead," the guard grumbled, "not with all that trouble down in the city."

"In that case, sir, I'll bring it to your mess," babbled the cook, rather too keen to please. "Must hurry. Lots to do."

He ushered the four rebels into a pantry and waited while they pulled out their swords.

"Thanks, my friend," said Ramil, shaking his hand. "Keep your head down.

It's going to get interesting in here."

They had chosen the northern gate. As most of the trouble was happening to the south, Ramil

guessed all eyes would be turned in that direction. They ran swiftly and silently through the

slave quarters. Though they were seen by many of Fergox's household, no one

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stopped them. Most just turned their eyes away, having learned that it was best not to notice,

but a few more adventurous souls grabbed makeshift weapons and ran after the rebels, poised

to defend their backs.

Ramil paused in the shelter of a doorway opposite the gate. He glanced out: there were five

guards, armored and alert. He leant back, taking a pause before the plunge.

"Do you remember Tashi dancing before those guards at Felixholt?" Ramil asked Gordoc.

"Aye, Ram."

"Of all the stupid, brave things to do! I was so angry with her."

"So was I. She could be very stubborn."

"For her then."

"For her."

The two men launched themselves across the courtyard, unaware that they now had twenty

slaves behind them in addition to their back-up of two. The soldiers grabbed their weapons but

too late. Slaves smashed them over the head with logs, buckets, anything they could lay their

hands on, as the rebels ran them through with swords. The skirmish was bloody but brief.

Clearing the bodies to one side, Gordoc opened the gate with a heave and the men waiting

outside rushed in.

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"You know your targets!" Ramil shouted, abandoning stealth. "Attack!"

Half the slaves swarmed up the walls, engaging the soldiers in close combat. Ramil led the rest

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main palace buildings. Arrows whizzed overhead. A man on his right fell with a grunt. Surprise

gave the slaves a huge advantage. Ramil took out the captain of the guard on the steps of the

throne room while Gordoc saw to the man ringing the alarm. The big bell stopped tolling.

"Is that it?" Ramil asked, wiping his brow. It had all seemed so sudden. He had expected more resistance. Unknown to him, in the other buildings of the palace complex, word had gone out

and slaves had quietly slit the throats of the men-at-arms. Few had been left to defend Fergox's

throne. Like Tigral itself, years of abuse had made the palace ripe for picking.

Gordoc and Ramil shoved the double doors open.

"I never did like Fergox's taste," Ramil said with a curl to his lip.

The high hall was decked in red cloth, falling in swaths to the ground like rivers of blood. The