"He wasn't alone," Myron said. "He had two friends and several servants."

"What happened to them? Were they locked up as well?"

"No," Myron replied.

"They didn't survive, did they?"

"I'm afraid not."

Hadrian sat up. His clothes were wet. Around him droplets fell, cascading down the walls. Looking across the shaft, he could see a clear division between a bright level of ice and snow and a much darker level of damp stone. "It's warmer," he said.

"We need to keep going," Royce told them. "The light is fading. Anyone want to do this holding a torch?"

"Try and find thicker ledges," Alric told Wyatt.

"I find what I find."

The lower they went, the darker it became, regardless of the daylight, which, to Hadrian's dismay, was fading quickly. They dropped down four more ledges. Their efficiency grew with repet.i.tion, but their progress was being hampered by the failing light. The walls were black, while overhead the opening had changed from a brilliant gray to a sickly yellow, with one side dipping into a rosy purple as the sun began to set.

Arista was on the rope, climbing down, when he heard her scream. Hadrian's heart skipped. He was holding the rope-had it wrapped around his waist-when he felt her weight jerk him.

"Arista!" he shouted.

"I'm all right," she called up.

"Did you slip?" Alric yelled from farther below.

"I-I put my hand on a bat," she said.

"Everyone quiet," Royce ordered.

Hadrian could hear it too, a faint squeaking, but on a ma.s.sive droning scale. That was followed by a hum, a vibration that bounced within the shaft until it grew to a thunder. The air moved with a mysterious wind, swirling and gusting.

"What's going on?" Arista called out, her voice hard to hear behind the growing roar.

"Hang on!" Hadrian shouted back.

They felt a rushing movement, like an eruption that issued from below, as the world filled with the fluttering of endless wings and high-pitched squeals. Hadrian braced himself, holding tight to the rope, as Arista screamed once more and the shaft filled with a cloud of bats that swirled with the force of a cyclone.

With his head down, Hadrian clutched the rope, wrapping it tight around his forearm. Mauvin and Royce grabbed hold of him. Arista was not going anywhere.

In less than a minute the hurricane of bats pa.s.sed by.

"Lower me down!" Arista called. "Before something else happens."

He felt her touch down, and as he reeled up the harness, Hadrian looked up. The small patch of mauve sky was filled with a dark swirling line. A cloud of bats snaked like the tail of a serpent, twisting, looping, circling. Like a magic plume of smoke, they were mesmerizing to watch. Hadrian guessed there had to be millions.

Looking back down, he noticed there was a light below, a bright light that filled the shaft, revealing the glistening walls.

"What's going on down there?" he called.

"I'm tired of not being able to see," Arista yelled back.

"She's got her robe glowing," Alric said uncomfortably.

When Hadrian got down, he saw the princess perched on an outcropping of rock. Her legs dangled over the edge, scissoring in the air, her robe glowing white. Whenever she moved, the shadows shifted. Everyone stole repeated glances, as if it might be impolite to stare. Gaunt had no such reservation as he gaped, openly horrified.

On they went, following the same order, all of them doing their job with a rhythm. They traveled in silence except for the necessary calls of "down" and "clear." It took five more descents before he heard Wyatt call up, "Stop! I'm at the bottom!"

"You're still on the rope," Hadrian shouted back, confused. "You haven't touched down yet? You need more slack?"

"No! No slack! I would prefer not to touch down."

"River?" Arista asked.

"Nope, but it's moving."

"What is?"

"Can't really tell. It's too dark down here. Give me a minute to find a place to land."

In time, they all descended to an island of rock that jutted up from the floor of the cavern. Even with Arista beside him, it was too dark for Hadrian to see clearly what lay around them. All he knew was that they stood on an island within a sea of dark movement. He smelled a foul odor and heard a soft chattering coming from the floor. The smell was very much like an old chicken coop. "What is it, Royce?"

"I really think you need to see this for yourself," Royce replied. "Arista, can you turn that thing up?"

Before he finished his sentence, Esrahaddon's robe increased in brilliance, a phosphorous light illuminating the entire base of the shaft. What they saw left them speechless. They were not actually at the bottom. They stood on the tip of an up-thrusted rock, tall enough to breach the surface of a monolithic pile of bat droppings. The cone-shaped mound of guano stood easily three hundred feet high. Every inch of it moved, as across its surface scurried hundreds of thousands of c.o.c.kroaches.

"By Mar!" Mauvin exclaimed.

"That's disgusting," Alric said.

There was more there than c.o.c.kroaches. Hadrian spotted something white and spidery darting across the surface-a crab, and there was not just one, but hundreds all scuttling along. There was a faint squeal lower down and he saw a rat. The rodent was scrambling to escape the pile as a horde of beetles swarmed it. The rat toppled and was pulled onto its back, where it floundered, struggling in the soft guano. It squealed again. Its feet, tail, and head quivered and thrashed above the surface as an endless mob of beetles pulled it down, until only the trembling, hairless tail was visible, and then it too vanished.

" 'Crawling, crawling, crawling. They eat everything,' " Myron quoted.

"Anyone want to try walking across that?" Royce asked.

Wyatt replied with an uncomfortable laugh, then said, "No, seriously, how do we get down?"

"What if we jump and run real fast?" Mauvin offered.

This idea garnered several grimaces.

"What if it's not solid? Can you imagine it being so soft that you went under, like water?" Magnus muttered.

"You're thinking something," Hadrian said to Royce. "You saw this from above. You wouldn't have come down if you didn't have some kind of plan."

He shook his head. "Not me, but I was hoping she would." He gestured at Arista.

All eyes turned to the princess and she returned the looks with an expression of surprise and self-doubt.

"You need to provide us with a path or something," Royce told her. "Some means of getting down the slope of this pile. There's an opening over there, a crack in the wall-see it?" He pointed. "It will be tight, but I think we can get through. Of course, we'll have to crawl, possibly even dig our way out. So really, anything you can do to distract the meat-eating beetles would be nice."

She nodded and sighed. "I really don't have a lot of experience at this."

"You do what you can," Hadrian told her.

"The only other alternative is Mauvin's idea-we run for it and hope to get out before we're completely eaten."

Arista made a face and nodded again. "Everyone should stand behind me. I don't know exactly what will happen."

"What's she gonna do?" Gaunt asked. "What's going on?"

"Just do as she says," Royce told him.

The princess took a position on the edge of the rock and faced the mound. The rest gathered behind her, shifting their feet so as not to fall. Arista stood with her arms at her sides, rotating her palms out toward the mound, and slowly, softly, she began to hum. Then the light of her robe went out.

Darkness swallowed them.

Their only reference point was the tiny circle of starlit sky that lingered overhead, and in the absence of sight, the chattering sounds of a million roaches echoed. They all stood close to each other, huddled against the black, when tiny lights began appearing. Pinp.r.i.c.ks flashed and died in the air before them. While the sparks lived, they swirled and drifted, riding currents of spinning air. More appeared, until Hadrian felt he was seeing the top of a giant campfire. There was no flame, only the swarm of sparks that rose high into the air, carried up as if the shaft were an enormous chimney.

In addition to the sparks, there was heat. It felt as if Hadrian stood before his father's forge. He could feel it baking his clothes and flushing his skin. With the heat came a new smell; far worse than the musty ammonia scent, this was thick and overpowering-the gagging stench of burning hair. As they watched, the pile before them began to radiate light, a faint red glow, like embers in a neglected fireplace. Then spontaneously flames caught, flaring here and there, throwing tall demonic shadows dancing on the walls.

"All right! All right!" Alric shouted. "That's enough! That's enough! You're burning my face off!"

The flames subsided, the red glow faded, and the soaring sparks died. Arista's robe once more glowed, but fainter and with a bluish tint. Her shoulders slumped and her legs wavered. Hadrian grabbed hold of her by the elbow and waist.

"Are you all right?"

"Did it work? Is anyone hurt?" she asked, turning to look.

"A little seared, perhaps," he said.

Royce ventured a foot out onto the pile. There was an audible crunch, as if he were stepping on eggsh.e.l.ls. The surface of the mound looked dark and gla.s.sy. Nothing moved anymore.

Royce took two steps, then returned promptly to the island. "Still a tad warm. We might want to wait a bit."

"How did you do that?" Degan asked, astonished, while at the same time shifting away from her as far as the tiny perch allowed.

"She's a witch," Magnus said.

"She's not a witch!" In the otherwise silent cave, the volume of his own voice embarra.s.sed Hadrian. It echoed twice. He noticed Alric looking at him, surprised, and he felt suddenly crowded. He stepped off and started walking.

He felt the surface of the pile crackle beneath his weight, the heat under his boots as if he were striding across sunbaked sand. He shuffled down the side of the pile, kicking the roasted remains of crabs aside. Light bobbed behind him and he knew at least Arista followed. They reached the crack. It was larger than it had seemed at a distance, and he was able to pa.s.s through without so much as ducking.

CHAPTER 9.

WAR NEWS.

The two girls sprinted along the parapet, their dark winter cloaks waving in their wake. Mercy jerked to a halt and Allie nearly ran her down. They b.u.mped and both giggled into the cold wind. The sky was as gray as the castle walls they stood on, their cheeks a brilliant red from the cold, but they were oblivious to such things.

Mercy got to her hands and knees, and crawling between the merlons, she peered down. Huge blocks of unevenly colored stone formed a twenty-foot-high wall, the squares seeming to diminish in size the farther away they were. At the bottom lay a street, where dozens of people walked, rode, or pushed carts. The sight made Mercy's stomach rise, and her hands felt so weak that squeezing anything caused a tickling sensation. Still, it was wonderful to see the world from so high, to see the roofs of houses and the patterns formed by streets. With the snow, almost everything was white, but there were splashes of color: the side of a red barn on a distant hill, the three-story building painted sky blue, the bronze patches of road where snow retreated before the heat of traffic. Mercy had never seen a city before, much less one from this height. Being on the battlements of the palace made her feel as if she were the empress of the world, or at least a flying bird-both of equal delight in her mind.

"He's not down there!" Allie shouted, her voice buffeted by the wind so that her words came to Mercy as if from miles away. "He doesn't have wings!"

Mercy crawled back out of the blocks of stone and, bracing her back against the battlement, paused to catch her breath.

Allie was standing before her-grinning madly, her hood off, dark hair flying in the wind. Mercy hardly noticed Allie's ears, or the odd way her eyes narrowed, anymore. Mercy had been fascinated by her that first day, when they had met in the dining hall. She had wandered away from the Pickerings' table to get a closer look at the strange elven girl. Allie had been just as interested in Mr. Rings, and from then on the two were inseparable. Allie was her best friend-even better than Mr. Rings, for although Mercy confided all her secrets to each, Allie could understand.

Allie sympathized when Mercy told her how Arcadius had refused to let her roam the forests near the university. She had suffered equally from similar hardships, such as when her father refused to let her roam their home city of Colnora. Both girls spent long nights by candlelight sharing horror stories of their adventure-impoverished childhoods, rendered such by overprotective guardians who refused to see the necessity of finding tadpoles or obtaining the twisted metal the tinsmith threw away.

They tried on each other's clothes. Allie's wardrobe consisted of boyish outfits, mostly tunics and trousers, all faded and worn, with holes in the knees and elbows, but Mercy found them marvelous. They were much easier to wear than dresses when climbing trees. Allie had very few clothes compared to the many dresses, gowns, and cloaks Mercy used to have at the university, but of course, now Mercy had only the one outfit Miranda had dressed her in the day they had fled Sheridan. In the end, all they managed to do was trade cloaks. Mercy's was thicker and warmer, but she liked how Allie's old tattered wrap made her look dashing, like some wild hero.

Allie let Mercy play with the spare s.e.xtant her father had given her, showing her how to determine their position by the stars. In return, Mercy let Allie play with Mr. Rings, but began regretting the decision now that he climbed on Allie's shoulder more often than her own. Late at night she would scold the racc.o.o.n for his disloyalty, but he only chattered back. She was not at all certain he understood the gravity of the problem.

"There!" Allie shouted, pointing farther up the parapet, where Mercy spotted the racc.o.o.n's tiny face peering at them from around the corner. The two bolted after him. The face vanished, a ringed tail flashed and was gone.

The two slid on the snow as they rounded the corner. They were at the front of the palace now, above the great gates. On the outside was a large square, where vendors sold merchandise from carts and barkers shouted about the best leather, the slowest-burning candles, and the bargain price of honey. On the inside lay the castle courtyard and, beyond it, the tall imposing keep, rising as a portly tower with numerous windows.

The racc.o.o.n was nowhere to be seen.

"More tracks!" Mercy cried dramatically. "The fool leaves a trail!"

Off they ran once more, following the tiny hand-shaped imprints in the snow.

"He went down the tower stairs, la.s.ses," the turret guard informed them as they raced by. Mercy only glanced at him. He was huge, as all the guards were, wearing his silver helm and layers of dark wool, and holding a spear. He smiled at her and she smiled back.

"There!" Allie shouted, pointing across the courtyard at a dark shadow darting under a delivery cart.

They scrambled down the steps, bounded to the bottom, and raced across the ward. They caught up to him when he neared the old garden. The two split up like hunters driving their quarry. Allie blocked Mr. Rings's path, forcing him toward Mercy, who was closing in. At the last minute, Mr. Rings fled toward the woodpile outside the kitchen. He easily scaled the stacked logs and scampered through a window, left open a crack to vent smoke.

"Crafty villain!" Allie cursed.

"You can't escape!" Mercy shouted.

Mercy and Allie entered the yard door to the kitchen and raced through the scullery, startling the servants, one of whom dropped a large pan, which rang like a gong. Shouts and curses echoed behind them as they sped up the stairs, past the linen storeroom, and into the great hall, where Mercy finally made a spectacular diving grab and caught Mr. Rings by the back foot. His tiny claws skittered over the polished floor, but to no avail. She got a better grip and pulled him to her.

"Gotcha!" she proclaimed, lying on her back, hugging the racc.o.o.n and panting for breath. "It's the gallows for you!"

"A-hem."