"I am thinking that we have two hundred men between us," Jayr said. "When our stores are exhausted, we will have to begin sending off groups to hunt. With no mortals within thirty miles, and only small populations within a hundred, they will have to be gone at least eight hours. If we hold them here too long, some of them will not wait for leave to go."

"Starvation and desertion, the two plagues of the besieger." Lucan studied the wine in his gla.s.s. "Locksley should have built his castle somewhere more convenient. I daresay you shall never face these problems in Orlando, suzeraina."

"But we face them now." Jayr thought for a moment. "Perhaps we could parley with this Italian. Offer him blood stores for him and his men in exchange for the hostages. At the very least he should agree to release the mortals he holds. In the old days they would often send out children, the sick, and the elderly to cross the lines."

"The mortals are his stores, my lady," Will said bitterly. "He will keep them alive as long as he can."

"We have a two-to-one advantage," Byrne said. "All we need is a way in unseen."

"If they follow the old ways, which I am quite certain they do, they will patrol the battlements and keep snipers at the windows from dusk till dawn," Lucan reminded him. "Once we reveal our presence they will be expecting us."

"We could tunnel in under the curtain wall here," Will said, pointing to the blueprints. "Come up under the middle ward and split the shaft east and west. Our men to the west emerge behind the tower and block the postern there. To the east, they come up in the chapel and enter the tower through the processional pa.s.sage."

Jayr studied the prints. "You mean to drive them from the tower into the gallery toward the postern."

Will nodded. "There the men sent to the west will be waiting for them."

"The fighting s.p.a.ce will be too d.a.m.ned confined," Lucan argued.

"Not for single combat," Will said. "Once we trap them inside, I will challenge Saetta in front of all his men to a duel of three."

Byrne scowled. "What the devil is that?"

"'Tis an English tradition, you tattooed heathen. The combatants are permitted to use against each other but three jabs of the lance, three thrusts of the dagger, and three strokes of the battle-ax. Whoever has a limb left to stand on, wins." Lucan smiled a little. "I do miss the old days. Terribly. So how long do we have to dig this tunnel?"

Will hadn't considered the time involved. "We have to be in position by tomorrow night. If I have not received word from Rob by then, we are to attack."

Byrne studied the map. "Even if we had the equipment, and sent in the miners to work night and day, we'd need at least four days to tunnel through. We need another way in."

"Or someone on the inside." Lucan lifted his gla.s.s to stare at its contents. "I have an idea."

In the place between flesh and spirit, Sylas of Daven walked, aware but not aware, himself and not himself. He had often retreated into the shadows, leaving behind his body as he became one with the darkness. Never had he stayed so long, and as he felt more of himself becoming part of the nothingness, he knew he had to return, at least briefly, to regain his strength and reclaim his soul.

The pain of parting was nothing to that of reunion, and as he sank over his body he felt the cold bite and burn into him like countless needles of copper. His first breath was agony, and he sank his fangs into his lip to keep himself silent.

The warm scent of mortal blood beckoned to him, promising relief, and he opened his eyes to find himself on the floor of a holding cell. He turned over and saw the battered face of a dark mortal over him.

"I thought I heard you move." Strong hands helped him up into a sitting position, and a red-rimmed eye peered at him, the other swollen shut. "Now, would you mind telling me where the h.e.l.l I am and why I'm here?"

Sylas didn't recognize the man, but he smelled of the city. "We are being held prisoner."

"That much I figured out on my own."

With a grunt Sylas rose, accepting the man's support as he found his footing. "What is your name?"

"Special Agent Raymond Hutchins, Federal Bureau of Investigation." He surveyed Sylas. "You escape from a costume party, Romeo?"

Sylas glanced down at his garments. "Of sorts. I am Sylas. How long have I been unconscious?"

"Couple of hours at least." Hutchins paced around the cell, pausing here and there to test one of the copper bars. "There aren't any cops around, and this isn't like any holding cell I've ever seen. It looks like a d.a.m.n dungeon."

"It is." Sylas looked up at the light fixture, which barely illuminated the shadows. "Agent Hutchins-"

"It's Hutch."

"Hutch." He pointed to the floor. "I need you to stand here, in the light, and close your eyes."

The mortal scowled. "Why?"

"If you do what I say, I can free both of us." He saw the skepticism in the other man's black eyes. "Or we can wait for our captors to come and do as they like with us."

Muttering under his breath, Hutch came and stood beneath the light.

"Keep your eyes closed."

"You got a welding torch in here I don't know about?" he asked.

"Please."

The mortal closed his eyes. As soon as he did, Sylas went to the bars and reached out to the shadows beyond them. As soon as the darkness covered his hand, he used his talent, shifting from one shadow to the other, until he stood on the other side of the bars.

He found that the wall cabinet where the keys were kept had been emptied, but no one had discovered the copies he had hidden beneath one of the floor stones. He used them to unlock the door to the cell.

"You can open your eyes," he said as the door creaked open.

Hutchins didn't move. "Nice trick, Houdini. How did you squeeze the bars like that?"

"I am quite flexible." Sylas saw that the mortal wasn't going to cooperate. "I am also leaving, Hutch. Come with me or stay here."

Hutchins came out of the cell, checking the area around them before nodding toward the left. "I heard some voices back there.

They came and brought out a man in chains."

Sylas breathed in but didn't detect any strange scents. "Stay behind me."

The largest of the detention cells beneath Rosethorn had been designed to hold a small army. Most of the garrison occupied it, all standing in circles within circles to afford the best opportunity of protection. As soon as the men saw Sylas and the mortal, they broke formation.

"Sylas." Eregen, one of his senior men, came to the bars. "We feared you were dead."

"I am well. Who did they take?"

"Raglan."

Sylas saw that the men had been stripped of their weapons. "How long have the guards been gone?"

"Five minutes at most."

They would be returning soon, and probably not with Raglan. Sylas unlocked the cell door, but held up his hand when Eregen would have pushed it open. "Wait. Send out two men to occupy our cell. Have them sit back in the shadows until the guards come, and then follow them in here. You should be able to take them without trouble or alerting those above."

Eregen nodded. "We need weapons."

"Use the women's pa.s.sage, and go to the bathhouse. I will send down what I can." He turned and saw the mortal watching them.

"This is Agent Hutchins. He was taken by the cavalieri from the city, doubtless as part of this scheme. Unless he throws his lot in with Saetta, he is to be regarded as an ally." He looked at the angry faces of the men of the garrison. "Keep your tempers checked. When we have taken back what is ours, then there will be the time for proper reckoning."

To his credit, Hutchins said nothing until he had followed Sylas out to the stairwell. "Is this some kind of reenactment thing? You boys think you're Knights of the Round Table?"

"There was never a round table." Sylas checked the stairwell before mounting the steps. "Arthur's knights held council on their feet, surrounding their lord. Be quiet."

Sylas waited at the top of the stairs for the patrol guard to pa.s.s him before he reached out and grabbed the man, clamping a hand over his mouth. "Take the pistol and sword from him."

Hutchins s.n.a.t.c.hed the gun, but couldn't work the sword free of the sheath. He tried to club the guard over the head with the b.u.t.t of the pistol.

"That will not work," Sylas said. "You must shoot him."

"I'm not killing this man-"

"It will not kill him." Sylas plucked the pistol from Hutchins's hand, pressed it to the guard's neck, and pulled the trigger. The cartridge of blue liquid lodged halfway into his neck, and the guard fell like a stone.

"That's a tranquilizer gun," the mortal said blankly. His eyes widened when Sylas pulled the empty cartridge from the wound in the guard's flesh, which immediately healed over. Then he looked up. "What kind of drugs did you put in me?"

"None." Sylas handed him the gun and bent to retrieve the man's sword. "You see? The sheath is made to hold the blade secure.

You must draw it up before you pull it back. Remember that."

The gun appeared in Sylas's face. "Tell me what this is. What he is, what you are. Now."

"You were taken prisoner by a group of renegades who invaded our stronghold," Sylas said. "We are called Darkyn. We are not human. We cannot be easily killed. I can tell you the rest of our history, but I doubt I will manage more than a few centuries'

worth before we are discovered."

Hutchins made a disgusted sound. "They must have pumped you full of drugs, too."

"I will give you proof." Sylas used the copper dagger to slash his palm, and then held it so Hutchins could watch the wound heal.

"When there is time, I will explain the rest. For now, I need you to trust me and follow my orders, or we will be captured. If that happens, they will not spare our lives again."

"Right." The mortal regarded him steadily. "You might be crazy as a bedbug, but you got me out of that cell. I'm willing to go on a little faith. What's next?"

"We need to retrieve weapons for my men. It will require us to move through occupied areas of the house. You must go ahead of me, and when you confront anyone, behave as if you are addled."

"Addled?"

"Drugged. Disoriented. Lost." Sylas dragged the guard's body behind some crates. "While you distract the Italians, I will deal with them. Whatever you do, stay in the light."

"Man, I'm not afraid of the dark."

Sylas handed him a dagger. "In this place, you have to be."

CHAPTER TEN.

Reese searched Robin's penthouse, tearing it apart in the process, but the book was nowhere to be found. She knew that Will wouldn't have left it behind unguarded, but she had to be sure. After breaking into Robin's vault room and searching through his most priceless treasures, she went to the phone and called her father.

"It's not here," she said, and explained what had happened since her last report. "Scarlet must have taken it with him to Rosethorn."

"Then that is where you will go."

She sat down on the edge of Robin's bed. "Father, this can't continue. He is already suspicious of me. If I show up there without cause-"

"He cares for you," Ennis reminded her. "You must use that affection. Convince him that you were afraid for him-"

"I am afraid for him."

"-and seduce him. When he sleeps, take the book and leave." He waited for her to reply. "Or kill him and take it. Perhaps his death will at last free you from your guilt. He was the one who did this to you, child. Or have you forgotten that?" "For my sins, I have tried to repent," she said slowly. "I have given my life into your hands. I have done your work. I have never complained. When will it be enough, Father? When will my penance end?"

His voice chilled. "You ask me for your freedom? Now, when we are so close?"

She didn't answer. Without the work-without Father-she had nothing. No one would care what happened to her. Not even Will.

"Bring the book to me," he said, "and I will release you from your vow."

They had never spoken of this, not since the night in the graveyard. Although it was everything that she wanted, she felt a perverse curiosity. "Why free me now?"

"You have earned it."

She took the cigarette case from her bag and opened it. Four vials of blood remained, along with one black vial. The last, filled with poison, she carried in the event she was ever captured by their enemies. Her father carried one just like it.

She had to drag the words out. "I will go to Rosethorn now."

"G.o.d watches over you, child."

Reese left the penthouse and returned to the loading platform, but saw no sign of the truck. Instead, a large recreational vehicle stood parked in its place.

"Our friends in the police department warned us that the truck you drove was reported stolen," the tresora told her. "I had my men remove it. The lady is resting in the back of the camper."

Reese eyed the large vehicle. "How is she?"

"Not well," he said. "She wouldn't let anyone come near her. Do you need directions to the sanctuary house?"

"No, thank you." She pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "I know where I'm going."