Of course, there was the thorny question of whether she could even get to the Burned Bridge with the town in the state it was. The streets were crowded with bands of merchant coster armsmen defending their companies’ storehouses or stores, shorthanded Council Guard detachments hurrying here and there, gangs of Tailings thugs and bravos roaming in search of chances to loot stores or rob passersby, and bands of Hulburgans gathering in squares to pull on old mail shirts or leather jerkins and pass out spears, axes, pitchforks, any old hoarded weapon or tool that might serve as one. From time to time silent squads of runehelms marched past, scattering crowds and driving gangs into retreat—it hadn’t taken long for both foreign gangs and loyalist militia to learn that the mage’s creations were almost invulnerable to any weapon they could find.
It would have to be the buried streets, she decided. They’d get her close enough. With a new determination fixed in her mind, Mirya slipped out of her shadowed doorway and hurried for Erstenwold’s. The store wasn’t far off, only a half block or so, and she hurried around the side of the building to let herself in the back—somehow the idea of unlocking the store’s front door while so many ruffians and thieves were about didn’t seem wise. She paused to throw the bolt at the back door and hurried to the cellars. Beneath a large square of canvas waited the crossbow and lantern she kept ready for venturing into the old passages beneath the streets. She didn’t like the idea of wandering about in the buried streets by night, but it wasn’t as if it would be any darker than it was during daylight. She lit the lantern, hoisted the crossbow on her hip, and clambered into the underground maze.
She hurried through the dark and dusty passages, following her usual route to the place she and her band usually met—an old wine cellar beneath the ruins of a wealthy merchant’s house in old Hulburg. She paused to consider her way in the shadows of the great, dusty tuns, searching her memory for the right combination of passages and cellars to take her toward the Burned Bridge.
Something moved in the darkness behind her. It wasn’t much, only the rattle of a small pebble kicked over the old flagstones by a careless foot, but Mirya’s heart leaped into her mouth. Instantly she dimmed her lantern and wedged herself into the darkest, narrowest space she could find, backing between two of the old storage shelves and bringing her crossbow up before her. For a moment, she heard nothing more—then the soft rustle of footsteps reached her ears, and a gleam of light played across the old vault. She released the safety catch of the crossbow. A large, hooded figure entered the room, a lantern held high in one hand and a wicked hatchet bared in the other.
Mirya heaved a sigh of relief. “I’m here, Brun,” she called softly, and came out of the shadows.
The young tavernkeeper jumped, startled by the sound of her voice. “Mirya?” he asked. “I didn’t expect to find you here—I was just on my way back to the Troll and Tankard.”
“Nor I you, but I’m glad to see you. I need your help. Geran Hulmaster’s been captured; Rhovann’s holding him in the prison beneath the Council Hall.”
“The Lord Hulmaster’s in the city?” Brun breathed. “We’ve got to help him! How in the Nine Hells did Marstel’s wizard catch him, anyway?”
“Through me,” Mirya answered. “Rhovann used his magic to spy on me, keeping watch for Geran.” That was as near the truth as Mirya could bring herself. She paused, thinking for a moment about what exactly she wanted him to do. She didn’t know if Hamil and Sarth could free Geran by themselves, but even if they could, she simply didn’t know if they’d be where Geran expected to meet them, or if they’d be able to divert themselves to the task when they likely had other important things to see to—in which case, it might come down to Mirya and whatever help she could muster from her neighbors. With a small nod to herself, she made her decision.
“Brun, I want you to gather the rest of our cell, or as many as you can find in half an hour’s time,” she told the big brewer. “Bring them to the cellar under Wennart’s storeroom, and wait for me there. It’s just behind