• CHAPTER EIGHT •

       Escape

      THE BOY SHOOK HIS head no.

      ‘Yes,’ repeated Borric.

      Suli again shook his head. He had been almost speechless since returning to the attic. In a hoarse whisper, he said, ‘If I go back they shall kill me, my Prince.’

      Borric leaned forward and firmly took the boy’s shoulders. He attempted to fill his voice with as much menace as possible while whispering. ‘And if you don’t, I will kill you!’ From the terror that shone from the boy’s eyes, he must have succeeded.

      The debate was over the boy’s refusal to return to his listening post near the Governor’s chambers to discover more of what was said there. Borric had told him that the more information they possessed, the better their chances of survival. The theory seemed lost upon the terrified boy.

      Discovering that the prisoner who escaped was a royal prince from a neighbouring kingdom was a shock, enough of a shock to push the boy to the brink of hysteria. Then by the time the boy had returned to the attic, it had sunk in that every power in the city of Durbin was being turned toward finding that Prince, with one thought in mind, to kill him! That had him teetering over the edge of hysteria. Then it hit him that whoever was found in the company of said Prince would be disposed of at the same time, to ensure his silence, and the boy found himself hanging out over the brink of hysteria, his feet churning in air as he clung with all his might to what remained of his wits. He sat silently crying, only his fear of discovery keeping him from wailing like a scalded cat.

      Borric at last saw the child was beyond reason. Shaking his head in disgust, he said, ‘Very well. You remain here and I’ll go. Which way was it?’

      The prospect of this large warrior knocking over statues and banging into furniture in the dark and making enough noise to wake the city hit the boy like cold water. It was an even more fearful choice than risking capture one more time. Shivering, the boy swallowed his fear and said, ‘No, my good master, I’ll go.’ He took a moment to collect himself, then said, ‘Stay quiet, and I will go listen to what is said.’

      Once he had made the choice, the boy acted without hesitation, and moved back to the trapdoor. He levered it up and slipped through silently. Borric thought that despite everything, the boy showed a particular type of courage, doing what had to be done regardless of how frightened he was.

      Time passed slowly for Borric and after what seemed an hour, he began to worry. What if the boy had been caught? What if instead of a round-faced little beggar coming through that trap, an armed warrior or assassin climbed into the attic?

      Borric picked up the dull kitchen knife and held it tightly. It was scant comfort.

      More minutes passed, and Borric was left alone with the sound of his own heartbeat. Someone wanted him dead. He had known that since the football match in Krondor. Someone named ‘Lord Fire.’ A silly name, but one designed to hide the identity of the author of that order to kill the son of the Prince of Krondor. The Governor of Durbin was part of the plot, as was a man in a black cloak. Probably a messenger from this Lord Fire. Borric’s head ached from stress, fatigue, hunger, and the after-effects of his journey across the desert. But he forced himself to concentrate. For the Governor of even a pest-hole city like Durbin to be involved in such a plot meant two things: the author of the plan to plunge the Empire into war with the Kingdom was placed highly enough to influence many people of rank, and the plot was far flung, as there were few places within the Empire farther away from the capital city as Durbin.

      The trap opened and Borric tensed, bringing his knife to the ready. ‘Master!’ a familiar voice whispered. Suli had returned. Even in the dark, Borric could sense his excitement.

      ‘What?’

      The boy hunkered down close to Borric, so he could whisper the news. ‘Much consternation in the city from your escape. The auction is closed tomorrow! This is an unprecedented thing. All wagons and pack trains from the city are to be searched. Any man with red hair is to be arrested at once, gagged so he may not speak, and brought to the palace for identification.’

      ‘They really want to ensure no one knows I’m here.’

      Borric could almost sense the boy’s grin as he said, ‘Difficult, master. With so much alarm in the city, sooner or later someone will discover the cause. The Captains of the Coast have agreed to sweep the sea lanes between the reefs and Queg, from here to Krondor, to find the runaway slave. And every building in the city is to be investigated, the search is underway even as we speak! I do not understand this thing.’

      Borric shrugged. ‘I don’t know either. How they could get so many people to agree to this sort of business without telling them what they were after …’ Borric moved toward a tiny gap in the support beam of the roof, where he could peek into the courtyard. ‘It’s another five, six hours to dawn. We might as well get some rest.’

      ‘Master!’ hissed the boy. ‘How can you rest? We must flee!’

      Borric said softly, ‘Fleeing is what they expect. They are looking for a man who is fleeing. Alone. A red-haired man.’

      ‘Yes,’ agreed the boy.

      ‘So we wait here, steal a little food from the kitchen, and wait for the search to wind down. In a household as big as this, we should be able to pass unnoticed for a few days.’

      Sitting back on his haunches, the boy let out a long sigh. It was clear Suli wasn’t pleased to hear this, but having nothing more intelligent to offer, he remained silent.

      Borric awoke with a gulp of breath, his heart pounding in his chest. It was still dark. No, he corrected himself as he spied a bit of light entering through the crack at the roof line, it’s still dark in this attic.

      He had been dreaming, of a time when he and his brother had been playing in the palace as children, using the so-called secret passages that were used by servants to move unseen between the different suites. The boys had split up and Borric had become lost. He had waited a long, lonely time before his Uncle Jimmy had come looking for him. Borric smiled as he remembered. Erland had been the more upset of the two.

      Moving to peer through the tiny crack at the sliver of courtyard he could see, Borric had little doubt it was much the same now. ‘Erland must think me dead,’ he muttered to himself.

      Then