Wrayan wasn't going to be very pleased about that, he guessed.

The newly released prisoners pushed past him, heading for the door, ready to stage a mass breakout. There was little time before they surged out of the dungeons and all hell broke loose upstairs.

"What's your name?"

"Chyler Kantel," the woman replied.

The name seemed vaguely familiar to Brak, but he didn't have time to wonder where he'd heard it before. He tossed the keys to her. "Let the others out."

Chyler caught the keys easily and hurried along the corridor to let the other women free.

Brak sagged against the bars of the now-deserted cell, still cursing. The boy hadn't been in the hall with Danyon, so he probably had him stashed in a room somewhere, despite what he'd said earlier about there being no private rooms in Westbrook unless you were a friend of the Plenipotentiary.

Brak recalled the man walking across the bailey to his quarters on the other side of the keep. If the Plenipotentiary of Westbrook was trying to curry favour with the Thieves' Guild, he might well have offered Danyon the use of a room in his own quarters to amuse himself with the boy.

He was going to have to involve Wrayan directly now, Brak realised. The problem was, even if he had the time before the newly released prisoners surged up the stairs to the main hall, there was no way to let the Hythrun thief know what was going on without getting him away from Danyon Caron first.

Not unless Brak was willing to open his mind and speak to Wrayan mentally.

After all the trouble he'd taken to conceal his thoughts from Wrayan, it seemed like failure to allow the young man access to his mind now.

Wrayan could use only a fraction of the magic Brak could call on, but if he had a talent at all, it was for telepathy. The moment he made mental contact with Wrayan, his terrible secret would be a secret no longer.

"They're all out," Chyler informed him, tossing the keys down the drain in the centre of the cell.

They clattered against the stone for a few moments and then landed with a splash at the bottom of the sewer. Chyler smiled. "It's going to take them a little while to get these cells locked again."

"Where would they have taken the boy?"

"Maskaar's quarters, probably."

"Who?"

"Pasha Maskaar," she told him. "Our esteemed Plenipotentiary of Westbrook."

"Tall chap? Slicked-back hair, and-"

"Thinks his shit doesn't stink?" Chyler finished for him with a sour grin. "That's him. Met him, have you?"

"I saw him earlier this evening. Would he harm the boy?"

"Not personally. Boys aren't his particular inclination."

"Do you know where to find his quarters?"

She rolled her eyes. "Every woman in Westbrook knows where Pasha Maskaar's quarters are . . .

what's your name, by the way?"

"Brak."

"Like the Halfbreed in the legends?" she asked, amused by the notion. "Your parents must have had a sense of humour."

The released prisoners had stopped milling about aimlessly and were starting to move towards the stairs.

"We'd better stick with the mob," he suggested, glancing over his shoulder. He debated reaching for Wrayan's mind again, but the idea of exposing his own vulnerabilities was still too painful to contemplate. He glanced at Chyler, thinking she was probably his next best bet. "Can you take a message to someone for me? Up in the hall?"

"I thought you wanted to find Rory?" she reminded him as they followed the edge of the crowd.

There were probably more than fifty prisoners pushing their way upward. There was going to be a riot when they burst out that door at the top of the stairs.

"I do," Brak agreed. "But I can find the Plenipotentiary's quarters on my own. If you want to get out of Westbrook in one piece, however, I need to get a message to my . . . accomplice."

"And what does your accomplice look like?"

"He's Hythrun. Tall, dark hair . . ." Brak smiled briefly as they started up the stairs. "And you'll probably think he's good-looking. He's thirtyish, but looks younger. He's sitting at the far end of the hall on the left going out. He's drinking with a Fardohnyan named Danyon Caron."

"Danyon's here?" Chyler asked in surprise. "Well, that solves the mystery about who Maskaar wanted poor Rory for."

"You know him?" Brak asked curiously.

Chyler smiled. "You don't think I wound up in the dungeons of Westbrook because of my wide circle of friends at the Winter Palace, do you? What's the message?"

Before he replied, Brak grabbed her arm and held her back for a moment, letting the surge of prisoners move ahead of them. He waited until the curve of the stairs took the last of the stragglers out of sight and then turned to Chyler. "His name is Wrayan Lightfinger. I need you to tell him to meet me at the gate. There'll be horses waiting for him. I'll be there with the boy. Tell him he doesn't have long."

"What about me? You promised you'd help me get out of here."

"You can leave with him."

She stared at him with a shrewd look. "What about you then?"

"I'll make sure you get away."

"That's very noble and self-sacrificing of you," she remarked.

"I'm a very noble and self-sacrificing sort of fellow."

Chyler studied him closely, as if she was trying to read his real intentions, and then shrugged.

"Cross me and you'll be sorry," she warned.

"Just deliver the message."

The woman nodded and followed the others up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Brak waited until she was out of sight before he pulled the glamour around himself again and followed her up to the main hall and the riot he had let loose along with the prisoners of Westbrook.

Chapter 32.

Wrayan's first hint that something was amiss with Brak's plan wasn't the sudden shouts as the fifty-odd prisoners previously incarcerated in Westbrook's dungeons burst out of a door at the other end of the hall. He'd been expecting that. It was the unexpected arrival of Brak's messenger.

The prisoners had surged forward and were halfway down the hall before the soldiers drinking near the door even thought to react. The crowd wasn't unsympathetic to the plight of the escapees, either. Some may have been friends or family members of those held prisoner here. The soldiers quickly found their way severely hampered by the mob.

Danyon looked over his shoulder at the sudden shouts and the tables being pushed over, a puzzled look on his face. "What the hell . . . ?"

"I think all your prisoners just got loose," Wrayan remarked blandly.

"They're not my prisoners," Danyon pointed out, turning his back on the chaos and picking up his ale. He took a good mouthful before wiping away the foamy moustache it left on his upper lip and grinned. "Not my problem."

Wrayan smiled, thinking he'd probably react the same way if he was to find himself witness to a mass breakout in Krakandar. He looked around for Brak. Somewhere in this melee, the Halfbreed should be pushing through with the boy. Then-if everything went according to plan-it was out into the bailey where their freshly saddled horses should be waiting, through the gate (which Brak had assured Wrayan would be open) and into the Widow-maker Pass and safety across the border. He'd felt Brak drawing on his magic, could feel it faintly still, but could see no sign of the Halfbreed. The guards were clambering over tables, pushing everybody out of the way in their haste to apprehend the prisoners, some of whom had managed to acquire weapons by now. A few of them had turned to fight the oncoming soldiers, but the majority were simply trying to make it outside to the illusion of freedom.

"Idiots," Danyon remarked. "How far do they think they're going to get with the gate closed?"

"A lot further than you, Danyon Caron."

Both Wrayan and Danyon were startled by the sudden appearance of a woman behind the Fardohnyan thief. She was short but compact and quite handsome, despite the grime on her face. With one smooth movement, she had Danyon's dagger out of its scabbard at his belt and rammed it into the thief's back with a sharp, upward thrust. Danyon fell forward onto the table heavily.

Wrayan jumped backwards, knocking the bench over in his haste. He stared at the woman in shock. "You killed him!"

"Are you the Hythrun?"

The shouts and cries of the escaping prisoners meant they were effectively isolated in a small pocket of silence. "What?"

"Is your name Lightfinger?"

"Yes."

"Then you're the one I want." The woman leaned over Danyon's dead body, smiling. "I warned you never to come here again, you slimy little prick."

"You killed him!" Wrayan repeated incredulously.

"Not often enough," she replied, jerking the dagger free.

Wrayan had no idea why he'd just witnessed a murder, and it wasn't the careless ease with which this woman had killed Danyon that shocked him. He lived on the darker side of human society and knew how cheap life was among thieves and whores. For that reason, there were rules governing meetings such as this and a guarantee of safety was foremost among them. What chilled him to the core was the realisation that if Danyon Caron had let it be known in Qorinipor that he was coming to Westbrook to meet with Wrayan Lightfinger of Krakandar, that made Wrayan the most likely suspect in Danyon's murder. Finding himself accused of killing the head of a guild of another city was something Wrayan could well do without.

"I've got a message for you from someone called Brak."

The name pierced through the shock enough to get Wrayan's attention. "What?"

"Your friend, Brak. He said to meet him outside. He has horses waiting for us."

"Us?" Wrayan repeated blankly.

"I'm coming with you."

"You just killed the head of the Qorinipor Thieves' Guild."

"Pretty good reason for not hanging about here then, don't you think?"

Wrayan couldn't argue with that. The need to get out of the hall, out of Westbrook, was suddenly his most urgent priority, with or without Brak's lost Fardohnyan child. He looked towards the door. The bulk of the soldiers were pursuing the escapees into the yard, and everyone else was racing outside to watch the fun and games. Without waiting to see if the woman was following, Wrayan headed for the door at a run.

The bailey was in chaos when they finally managed to push their way outside. Not only had extra guards been called up, but the gate was half-open and one very angry and loud Kelesan Hull was standing there, arguing with the officer on duty about whether or not he should be allowed to come in.

The prisoners, realising the gate was unsecured, had surged towards it while the soldiers tried to get it closed again, but Kelesan's wagon was blocking the gate and he was refusing to budge, so there was little hope of them getting it shut in time.

Wrayan hesitated on the top step, taking in the scene with a glance.

"They'll never get it closed again," the woman chuckled, coming up beside him. She seemed singularly unperturbed by the fact that she had just committed cold-blooded murder.

"And we'll never get through it," Wrayan pointed out, frowning at the crush of people heading for the gate. "Where's Brak?"

The woman spotted him first. "There!"

Brak was running towards the stables from one of the buildings off to the left. Over his shoulder was a limp, ragged bundle. They ran down the steps and pushed their way across the yard, catching up with him as the stable boy brought out their horses.

"Mount up and take him," Brak ordered as soon as he spied Wrayan.

Wrayan snatched the reins from the stable boy and swung into the saddle. He barely had his feet in the stirrups before Brak was handing the limp child up to him. "He's been drugged," Brak explained.

"All part of the evening's entertainment," the woman remarked sourly, climbing into the saddle of Brak's gelding. "We're never going to get through that gate, Brak."

"No need. There's another way out."

"How do you know?" Wrayan asked, adjusting his grip on the boy for fear of losing him. He wasn't too thrilled about the woman joining him in their desperate escape, either.

"I was here when the Harshini built this place, Wrayan. Follow me."

Brak led them away from the stables and further from the gate and the riot, the noise fading a little as they rounded a corner and rode down a lane between two of the outbuildings on the eastern wall, which finished in a dead end.

"Oh! A dead end!" his new companion remarked, when she saw they were trapped. "This plan just gets better and better, doesn't it?"

"Have a little faith," Brak said, and then turned to face the wall. Wrayan felt the Halfbreed drawing on his magic and suddenly the wall faded to reveal a postern gate tall enough for them to ride through. The woman stared at it with the same sort of stunned surprise that Wrayan imagined he must have showed when she so coldly rammed a knife into Danyon Caron's back.

Wrayan shook his head in wonder. "They built a secret gate."

"The Harshini might be naive, Wrayan, but they're not stupid." Brak opened the gate, which apparently wasn't even locked. "Now get out of here. And don't stop at Winternest." Brak reached into his vest and pulled out something, which he handed to Wrayan. It was a cube of transparent material showing a dragon clutching the world in its claws, attached to a fine gold chain.

"What's this?"

"If things get desperate," Brak told him, glancing back down the lane to ensure they were still unobserved, "and I do mean desperate, Wrayan, call them. Someone will come."

Wrayan looked at the pendant in shock. "But they can't leave-"