shackles from sleeping men.
Then the last cell was visited, the last lock undone. The door of the dungeon swung open easily under the grizane’s touch and voice. They climbed up the long stairway, Ilbran clinging to the gray one’s robe. “There may be a guard at the top,” he said. The grizane began another chant, soft as a mother’s lullaby. Below them, a confused murmur of voices arose.
“They are awaking,” muttered the grizane. “The fools have not the sense to escape quietly. They will bring the whole garrison down upon us.” He seized Ilbran’s wrist in an iron grasp and quickened his step to a near-run. Behind them, the noise grew to a shouting, and the ring of steel against steel. Ilbran ran and fell and ran again, stumbling through the maze of streets. Right and left and right again, as the grizane led him on flagged streets and cobbled ways, twisting and turning and at last stumbling up a short flight of steps to collapse against a wall.
Ilbran lay where he had fallen, his face against the cool stone. There was shouting in the distance, but it came no closer. “Where are we?” he asked.
“On some nobleman’s back doorstep,” said the other. “I can hold it against any passer-by. Till dawn, we are safe.”
“Then when morning comes, what then?”
“I do not know, yet. We have a long night to think and make our plans. Do not be impatient—is it not better than the night you would have spent?”
Ilbran raised his head and opened his eyes. Night-black emptiness. “In truth, in truth it is better,” he said. “This night I will spend planning for life; that night I would have spent planning for death.”
When he closed his eyes, he could speak more calmly. “I did not understand what kind of a bargain I was making with you, but truly, truly, I would be a shabby soul to regret it.” He spoke to try to convince himself, and gained courage and conviction as he spoke. “I do not know how long this freedom will last, but even the freedom to be hunted is better than that which I left.”
The grizane chuckled slightly, a strangely human sound. “With but a little skill and management, you will live past the hour set for your death, and those hours, or days, or more, you may thank me for. I have given you nothing yet.”
“At least you gave me, and those others, a chance,” Ilbran said. “Do you believe that any of them escaped?”
“I fear not. But they died a clean death. I might have stayed and helped them more, but I feared the guards would come. I could not stay. I have a mission of my own. The life of your land may depend on it.”
“What did you do back there?” Ilbran asked suddenly. “What have you been doing? Can you do anything?”
“Is this any time for a discussion of the limits of magic?”
“Why not? There are none to hear but the night-birds and crickets.” Why he was so bold, Ilbran did not know. In all his life, he had never dared to speak a word to one of the grizanes. This was like some strange Festival day, with all the barriers cast down.
The grizane sighed. “It has been long since I spoke to one of your kind for anything more than buying bread in the marketplace, but perhaps I owe you something. Since you wish knowledge, you may have it. It may help both of us, if you know what I can do.”
His voice was not old-seeming, but timeless, clear and precise. “To escape, it was necessary to take your sight from you. Vision is necessary for the use of power. I do not know how those curs knew that, but it is true. Power is brought into being by voice, and strengthened by touch, and directed by sight. Do you understand?”
Ilbran opened his eyes and shuddered. Pretend it is but night, and the day will come soon, he told himself, but he knew that the stars shone bright for one who had eyes to see them. Aloud, he said, “I think I understand. What good is a dagger if your enemy is hidden from you?”
“Good enough,” the grizane said. “All power has its limits. I can do as I will with things of the earth, those locks and chains. I can hold the mind of one person, one guard, one passerby, so that he will see a blank wall, instead of this