The Crown Tower

CHAPTER 17

Different.

Nothing was ever the same the second time around. Not that Royce made a habit of doing anything twice, but on those rare occasions he found it impossible to repeat the sequence exactly. This held true with the Crown Tower. None of it was the same. Of course it wouldn’t be, given the oaf he had in tow, but that wasn’t the issue. That aspect was behind him, and what he was feeling was out front.

Different.

The trip to Ervanon illustrated his point. The first time, he had moved invisibly except for the bumbling seret, who had no idea the real threat he posed. Once he dumped them on Hadrian, he had become a ghost, inconspicuous and unseen. This second time, the road had been alive with riders. Not that Hadrian had noticed. The man noticed nothing, not even his own stupidity, which followed him as loyally as a dog. Stealing that book had set all of Ghent on edge, and he was still being hunted. Soldiers, even those who worked for the church, were animals of habit. They hunted by day and slept at night. Avoiding them had been a simple task, but still indicative of a problem Royce hadn’t faced previously. Never before had he returned to the site of a crime within days of committing it. Such an act certainly benefited from being unexpected, but it also threw all the elements into a kind of tornado.

He had planned the job carefully. He knew the routine of the servants and patrols, the merchant caravans, and even the drunk they called Mosley, who wandered home past the tower each night. As a result, he had a high level of confidence even though he had little idea what lay at the top. Precious little information had been available on that. The alabaster portion of the tower was rumored to be the personal living quarters of the Patriarch, the head of the Nyphron Church. As much myth as man, only the archbishop, and perhaps the sentinels, ever actually saw him. If he had servants, he kept them with him and none ever saw the light of day except through tower windows.

While from the ground the top looked small, Royce had determined the “crown” was not just one floor. Arcadius had helped with that part. He sent Royce to take visual measurements using sticks and string; then he calculated with numbers and determined the alabaster portion was as many as four stories, or two if it had high ceilings. The sheer girth of the tower suggested a living space bigger than most castle keeps and could house a large staff of servants. Guessing that a patriarch was much like a king, Royce anticipated a personal chapel, a library, an impressive reception hall, an opulent bedroom, and a study. The top of the Crown Tower was famed to house the horded wealth of Glenmorgan and the church, so he could also expect a treasure room of some sort. A simple strongbox was unlikely, unless the tales were only rumor, but he suspected they were true. If anywhere was perfect to keep a treasure, it was up there. All he needed was to find the room with the biggest lock.

Royce was wrong-about the lock. He had found the book in an unguarded, open room littered with a cornucopia of oddities, weapons, armor, books, chalices, and plenty of jewelry, each treated with no more respect than junk in an attic. To Royce’s relief, there had been just a few books to search through and only one battered journal. He was in and out in minutes, never needing to explore the upper floors, despite his curiosity. This time, knowing exactly where to go, he expected to be faster. The only variable was Hadrian.

Looking down, he saw the dolt was still dangling, swinging like a clown near the end of the rope. Arcadius had chained him to a mindless cow.

Unlike Hadrian, Arcadius wasn’t an idiot, and the old man’s motives vexed him-but then everything the professor did was puzzling. After paying to get Royce out of prison-something he never gave a reason for-he provided Royce with a room at the school, where he had fed and educated him. Initially, Royce hadn’t seen anything strange in his actions. He was confident Arcadius had old scores to settle, and being in need of a good assassin had simply bought one.

Genius really-save a killer from certain death and such a beast might just be tamable. Having a pet assassin could be handy to anyone. Yet for all his education, Arcadius knew nothing about the ethics of killers-or maybe it was just Royce he had read wrong. Royce had no intentions of being domesticated.

Royce had already known letters and numbers, which had surprised the old man and allowed them to move on to history and philosophy. Why the professor wanted to educate him in such matters was another of the many mysteries that he refused to answer-no, not refused. Arcadius never flatly refused anything. He always gave an answer, just never the one Royce expected. This was one of the early indicators that the old man was clever. I feel very strongly that everyone should have an education. Ignorance is the bane of the world. Knowledge brings understanding, and if men understand the difference between right and wrong, they will, of course, do what is right. It was this sort of absurdity that the professor would spout, leaving Royce to puzzle about his real motives. In the two years they had spent together, he had never found it.

Months went by.

Royce had expected Arcadius to provide him with a list of people to eliminate, but he had never received one. The old professor had even accepted Royce’s prolonged leave of absence, “to close out some unfinished business.” Arcadius hadn’t asked a single question before or after, and the topic was never brought up since, not even in jest. This, more than anything, convinced him that Arcadius had known exactly how he’d spent those months away, confirming Royce’s belief that the professor was dangerously intelligent and absolutely puzzling. Over a year had passed, and until this job, escorting Hadrian to Sheridan, he had never requested a thing. Now Arcadius was tossing Royce the key to his freedom, but why? If it had been anyone else, Royce would have assumed the job had been designed to fail. He had been on enough setups to recognize the smell. But why? Why buy him out of prison just to send him back or see him killed?

Different.

Everything was out of place with this job, the reasoning, the purpose, the stupid conditions. Nothing made sense. He was being manipulated; he just couldn’t tell how or why. I want the two of you to pair up, Arcadius had told him. You can be a good influence on the young man. Hadrian is a great swordsman-any weapon really. In a fair fight, no man can beat him, but I am concerned that not all his battles will be fair. He lives in a make-believe world, trusting that people are good and honorable. Such an attitude will make him easy prey for those wishing to harness his considerable talents. You can help put his feet on the ground, anchor him in reality, introduce him to the real world-a world you know all too well. And he will be a great asset. You could use a good sword at your side.

All this must have been a lie. Hadrian hadn’t drawn any of his three swords, despite nearly being killed twice. Not to mention he had been stupid enough to get caught unarmed during an ambush. But the biggest indication was that he didn’t have the killer instinct. The man was soft. Royce concluded the weapons were a ruse, a costume to give the impression of a threat that didn’t really exist. The question then remained: Why had Arcadius gone through all this effort? What was the old man really after?

Different.

Royce slid the remaining escape coil of rope to the side and looked over the edge. He had expected the idiot to be dead by now. His insistence on living was more than a little annoying, but his persistence in climbing had solved the problem well enough.

Royce reached inside the folds of his cloak and drew his knife.

I told you, he pictured telling Arcadius, he fell to his death just as I said he would. At least that wouldn’t be a lie.

The rope supporting Hadrian was tied to the merlon, twisting and sliding with Hadrian’s pendulum weight. Royce reached out with his knife and Alverstone’s blade caught the moonlight. The dagger shined its pale white light, nearly blinding him. It was a good dagger-a great dagger-but at that moment he wished for any other.

Royce shook his head, annoyed with himself. I only promised not to kill the old man. But that thought didn’t change the brilliance of the blade in his hand. He’d made a bargain with the only person who had ever mattered. It was stupid. The man was dead. It made no sense to keep a promise to a ghost. Royce had managed to block out most of his memories of Manzant prison, but the dagger was in his hand-a parting gift from a man who had saved more than just his life and asked but one small favor. Royce had cut dozens of necks with that white blade and never thought twice, but he couldn’t cut this one lousy rope.

It’s my payment, Royce, he remembered Arcadius saying.

And that’s it? After that I’m through with both of you?

Yes. But I will hold you to an honest attempt-a fair treatment. You can’t set him up to fail.

Royce sighed, sheathed the dagger, and got to his feet.

After the book has been delivered, I’m free of all vows.

A smile replaced the scowl. On the way out he would send Hadrian down first-and then he would untie the bloody rope if he had to. With any luck, someone below would hear him scream and draw attention to his body. Royce would descend the other side of the tower-the side nearest the exit, and disappear as planned. It would have worked better if they could find the journal on him. Royce berated himself again for being a fool.

When mentally scolding himself grew tiresome, and Hadrian still hadn’t reached the top, Royce had nothing else to do but sit back and look at the view. Of all places, he loved a good roof. The higher the better, and none had ever been higher than this. The air smelled fresher, the moon felt closer, and humanity was farther away. He leaned against the merlon, listening to Hadrian’s grunts while overhead the stars sparkled even though clouds were quickly moving in. A storm was on the way. That was good. Clouds meant a darker night. A storm would hamper any search. Royce wasn’t used to luck going his way, but it appeared as if Novron was smiling on him.

Given his love of altitude, Royce found it ironic that most of his life had been spent in the gutter. All that could change now. He was done with cities. Nothing to go back to-he had made certain of that. He hadn’t just burned bridges; he had obliterated them in apocalyptic fashion. Only one more tie to cut, and he was severing it tonight. In an odd way he felt as much regret as pleasure. He would be on his own again, but he would also be alone.

I work best alone.

Royce wanted to believe that, but even after all that had happened, he still missed Merrick.

Back in his early days, when he was new to the city of Colnora, he had met Merrick. They were both new inductees to the Black Diamond thieves’ guild. Merrick had started life better off than Royce-most people had. He had parents of means, not that they were still speaking to him by then, but they had raised their son, educating the boy with the hope he might follow his father’s example and become a magistrate. Merrick chose a different path.

The guild paired Royce with Merrick to learn the city, but Merrick was always an overachiever. Royce was his pet project, and his new partner proceeded to instruct him on everything. He taught Royce letters, numbers, and the most reliable escape routes and safe houses. He also introduced him to his first bottle of stolen Montemorcey, shared one night on a rooftop. Doing so ruined Royce for any other drink and made high places his altar.

Royce had known nothing of the world and Merrick became his guide. Little wonder they turned out to be so much alike, kindred spirits in motives and attitudes. Royce had never known his family, and Merrick soon became the brother he never had. The two would still be terrorizing the streets, alleys, and rooftops of Colnora if only Merrick hadn’t betrayed Royce and sent him to prison. The betrayal proved that no one could be trusted. People looked out for themselves. Not even the slightest act was ever without some form of perceived benefit to the person making it. Even kindness was the result of a desire for respect or admiration in the eyes of those helped. This was another lesson Merrick had taught Royce, and Merrick knew everything. When the noose pulled tight, when the wind blew cold, anyone-no matter who-looked out for themselves.

As he thought this, Royce felt a tremor on the wooden walk circling the crown. It wasn’t Hadrian; he was still climbing.

The rising wind?

Possible, but he didn’t like it. He had been lucky, but Royce was cynical by nature, and gods he knew to be fickle. He struggled to listen, but the same wind was howling and at that moment Hadrian finally pulled himself over the lip of the crenel, where he collapsed, panting on the walkway. Royce removed his harness and gestured for Hadrian to do the same. Once done, he pointed to the right, indicating their direction. The window he had entered last time was halfway around the tower. All he needed Hadrian to do now was follow him. Concerned about the vibration on the walkway, he wasted no time getting started.

He didn’t trot although he wanted to. If the vibration was the result of footfalls, he didn’t want to send a return message. Still, he moved with urgency, peering ahead and watching the bend for signs of anyone.

Different.

Previously there had been no patrol on the parapet, but he had rattled the beehive with his last visit. Had they found the horses? Had someone in the city spotted Hadrian blundering through the streets? Had they seen all the rope he was carrying and made an educated guess? They could have determined Royce’s previous method of entry. Steps may have been taken. Still, he needed only minutes. Royce reached the window-still unlocked. Is that good or bad? He pushed the panes in and entered. Dark, but not entirely silent, he could hear breathing. Creeping inside he found no one. The room was as empty as before. The breathing came from an outer chamber. Moving forward, he found a priest seated on a bench breathing heavily. The stairs were nearby and the priest’s waistline indicated he might be unaccustomed to climbing.

The priest was a minor annoyance. He had his back to the window and panted so loudly, he invited a throat slitting. Royce pulled out his dagger and inched forward.

A heartbeat later Hadrian blundered in behind both. A moment after that, the priest turned-and screamed.

The priest’s scream was cut short by Royce, but while it lasted, the piercing wail had been loud.

“Drop the book and run for the rope!” Royce told Hadrian. “We’re done. You’re on your own.”

Royce passed him and was out the window before Hadrian could respond, not that he had much to say, beyond, “Okay.”

Hadrian did as instructed. He withdrew Hall’s Journal and set it on the bench beside where the priest had fallen into a pool of blood. Then he climbed back out the window. Royce was nowhere to be seen. He might have run left or right, he had no idea, nor did it seem important at that moment. Hadrian ran to the right, back the way he had come.

Royce was leaving him behind. Hadrian could never hope to catch up; the man was too fast, too agile. He would already be over the side, rappelling down the tower long before Hadrian reached the rope. With the wind roaring in his face, and while still struggling to catch his breath after the climb, Hadrian reduced his run to a trot.

The wind wasn’t the only thing shouting. Men were yelling, angry voices buffeted by the gale. Ahead or behind Hadrian couldn’t tell for sure. All he knew was that Royce was gone and he was left alone on the tower to face the aftermath of the thief’s handiwork. He thought of Pickles and gritted his teeth.

Silence, wind, silence, wind. Stone merlons interrupted the gale. Gaps of stars flashed on his left, solid stone to his right. Ahead he spotted the rope and the two harnesses.

Imagine twenty tower guards with sharp swords running at you, and twenty more with crossbows shooting, their bolts pinging off the stone around you. The thing is, you don’t just have to get down before they stab, hack, or shoot you. You have to get down before they realize all they have to do is cut the rope.

Hadrian slid to a stop at the edge and picked up his harness.

How long do I have? Seconds?

“Why did I even take the thing off?” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder as he pulled the harness over his legs. Then he stopped. “Why two harnesses?”

Hadrian bent over the edge. The rope dangled, drifting lazily, abandoned in the breeze. No sign of the thief. As fast as Royce was, without a harness he couldn’t possibly be at the bottom unless he had fallen. Hadrian looked at the other harness, even as he pulled the leather straps over his own shoulders. In the distance the sound of shouts continued. He felt vibrations through the wooden walkway. Men were on the parapet.

The walkway was a big circle. The window they had entered was halfway around the tower from where they had climbed up. Running in either direction after climbing out the window would eventually lead back to the rope. Hadrian had gone to the right, returning the way he had come. Royce, he realized, had gone left.

Royce determined survival was still a possibility when there were just two. Three meant certain death, and now there were five. They were all tower guards at least, homegrown footmen-no seret. Still, their swords were just as long, which gave them a three-foot advantage. Trapped on the narrow parapet, he had little room to maneuver and nowhere to hide.

Royce glanced over his shoulder. No sign of Hadrian, but then there wouldn’t be. He went the other way. They each had an even chance, and Hadrian had proved luckier. He’d gone around the tower on the side without guards and was back at the rope whizzing down the lines. In less than five minutes, his ex-partner would be back on the street heading for the horses. In fifteen, he’d be trotting away. Hadrian had done to him essentially what he had planned to do to Hadrian. Only in the fighter’s case, it was accidental.

The guards advanced and Royce backed up.

There were other doors and windows along the parapet-none he would dare enter as he imagined the inside of the crown to be a hive of men eager to kill him. Royce had one chance. He could run back, circle the tower the way Hadrian had, and reach the rope. If he was fast enough, he could get over the lip and down a few feet before they cut the line. If he could get his hand-claws on and catch hold of the stone, he might be able to climb down. Still, they would probably have him. Men would be waiting at the bottom by the time he got down, but that was still his best option.

He lingered, curious as to why the footmen were hesitating. They inched forward a short step at a time with swords out, jabbing. No serious attempt was made to wound. They resembled a pack of old wives with brooms chasing Royce as if he were a squirrel on their roof. Men of this sort weren’t usually this timid-unless they already knew him. He was missing something.

Time was not on his side. He turned to make good his gamble, but before he took a step he saw two more guards exit the tower to the parapet. They had him front and back then, and more were struggling to join the party.

So that’s what you were waiting for.

None of the men jabbing their blades had said a word. No demands to drop his dagger, to give up, to surrender. It appeared the church had strict penalties for defiling the home of their holy leader. Royce’s options were limited to just two: death by sword or death by falling. He put his back to the wall to see which side would lunge first. The guy to his right with the short beard gave him a sneer.

Royce crouched, ready to move. His best bet would be to dodge under whatever stroke came. Make a rabbit-stab to the heart or lung, then just push forward. They were clustered. He might be able to knock a couple down, stab another one or two before-

Someone screamed.

The cry was behind him.

Royce didn’t have time to look as Mr. Beard took that opportunity to lunge. The attack was a jab. Royce avoided it, then rushed in tight. Leading with his shoulder, he ran into the man as hard as he could, thrusting Alverstone up and under his armpit. The initial resistance faded the moment the blade went in, and the man fell backward with a groan. The footman directly behind went down as well, knocked over by the collision. The third was quicker than Royce had hoped. He stabbed down. Royce rolled against the inside wall and the soldier’s blade pierced the second man’s thigh, wrenching out a high-pitched squeal. Royce scrambled up the piggish guard and got his dagger into the foot of the third man, still distracted by the shock of having wounded his comrade. The pain brought the man to his senses, and he swung at Royce, who again managed to roll clear. Limping, the tower guard retreated a step as his two remaining associates pulled him out of the way.

At any moment Royce expected a blade in his back. He hadn’t had time to look and couldn’t fight in both directions. The tiny army behind him had an open target and he wondered what was taking them so long to end this. Their tardiness almost annoyed him.

Then Royce heard the clank of steel and another cry. Finally taking the chance to look behind, he saw the bodies of at least four guards, blood-soaked and clogging the walkway. Amidst the slain, a stained sword in each hand, stood Hadrian.

Like everyone else still alive on the parapet, Royce stared in shock. Too many impossibilities bartered for his thoughts. The thief was paralyzed, unable to think because the world had just flipped. At first he refused to believe it was Hadrian. It had to be someone else. Perhaps it was Novron himself, who had overheard Royce’s thought about fickle gods and had arrived to exact punishment. The guards had just been in the way. Somehow this seemed more believable to Royce than what his eyes revealed.

Is it possible the idiot couldn’t find the rope?

Hadrian leapt the corpses and moved to his side. “Get behind me.”

Royce did better than that. For some reason the gods saw fit to give him a second chance, and he was taking it. Slipping past Hadrian, he bolted for the rope.

It wasn’t far, and just as he was nearing the anchor point, Royce stopped. Two more guards were on the walkway, blocking his passage. Only these were nothing like the footmen nor did they resemble seret. They didn’t appear like anything Royce had ever seen before. They wore gold breastplates over shirts of vertical red, purple, and yellow stripes with long cuffs and billowing sleeves. Matching pants plumed out, gathering just below the knee into long striped stockings. On their heads, messenger wings decorated gold helms, which hid their faces behind cages of mesh. Each held unusual weapons, long halberds with ornately curved blades at both ends, which they held tight to their sides with one arm straight down and the other high across their chests.

Royce didn’t know whether to laugh or run. They looked ridiculous. They were also big, and his inability to see their eyes worried him. They didn’t hesitate. They didn’t jab at him like old wives. They advanced with such determination that Royce settled on running away.

“By Mar!” Hadrian shouted as he ran across him again. “What have you found this time?!”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like them.”

Hadrian stepped between Royce and the two golden guards as they marched single file. They showed no hurry but also no hesitation.

“Where are those others?” Royce asked.

“I persuaded them to leave.”

“Good for you.”

Hadrian used his sleeve to wipe the sweat and blood from his eyes as the walkway bounced with the coming of the colorful guards. “Once I start fighting, run back around the tower. Get to the rope and head down.”

Hadrian was only lending voice to Royce’s own thoughts. He took a step back and was about to run again when he noticed something that didn’t make sense. “Hey, you’re wearing your harness.”

“I almost went down. You’re lucky I realized you were in trouble.”

The golden guard closed in.

Hadrian crouched, raising his swords. “Get going.”

Hadrian lunged forward to meet the first of the pair. Royce watched in awe as Hadrian moved like a dancer, catching the pole-arm of the guard with one sword and stabbing with the other. It looked as if he got the sword up under the breastplate, but the tip glanced away. The guard slammed Hadrian back with enough force to drive him into Royce.

“I told you to leave!”

“I’m going!”

Royce retreated as Hadrian attacked once more. This time the guard swung, spinning the top blade down. Hadrian blocked with his off-hand sword, and Royce watched in amazement as Hadrian’s blade was cut in half.

“Whoa!” Hadrian retreated.

The guard pressed the attack. Hadrian ducked, letting the spinning blade spark against the tower’s stone. Without pause, the guard brought up the bottom blade, which Hadrian deflected with the broken hilt, but that just gave the golden boy another downward slice. Hadrian should have been dead. Royce had seen enough fights to know that most were short affairs. One or two parries were all that could be hoped for, and that was only if both sides were playing by proper fencing rules. The golden gods before Hadrian weren’t even using swords. The downward blow had speed and strength.

Clank!

Royce wasn’t sure how he did it, but Hadrian had gotten his remaining sword up high enough to save himself from being cut in half. The same could not be said about his second sword, which snapped, the end of the blade flying out over the edge of the parapet. Hadrian only avoided being cleaved in half by falling to his knees.

“RUN!” he shouted.

Royce had seen enough and sprinted back around the tower. He came to the dead bodies and vaulted them, skidding so far on the blood-slick walkway he nearly went out one of the open crenels.

There were eight bodies. Hadrian had killed seven.

Royce was nearing the rope’s anchor point when again he faced a golden guard. Just one this time, but after watching Hadrian, that was one too many. How many of these are coming up the steps after us? No, he realized, this was the second of the two Hadrian had faced. Hadrian was probably dead. The other guard would be going around the opposite way, coming up behind him.

Fighting was stupid. He just needed to get by. If he could avoid one attack and push past, there was a chance to dive for the rope. Without waiting, without pausing, Royce ran at the guard and dodged left then right. The faceless golden helmet followed him and swung with incredible speed, just missing Royce’s left leg. Pivoting and using his forward momentum, Royce punched his body through the gap between the tower wall and the golden armor. He remembered the second blade of the guard’s weapon too late.

Royce felt the metal cut into his side, and where he intended to land on his right foot to keep running, his leg refused to obey. He collapsed under his own weight. Royce fell, skidding across the wooden walk, sliding on his own blood. Rolling to his back, he watched the faceless guard bring down the killing blow, the spinning scythe-like blade aimed for his chest.

Clank!

The pole was hammered to the wall, sparking and chipping out a fist-sized chunk of stone. Hadrian was there again, standing above him. He had his big sword out, and spinning in a full circle he caught the gap between the guard’s collar and the flange of his helm. Or so Royce thought. His head should have flown a mile, but instead the guard was merely slammed into the wall where his helmet carved out another bit of stone.

Hadrian continued to ram forward, pummeling the guard with blow after blow, forcing him back. Royce struggled to get up. He pushed to his elbows and saw the cut in his side was deep, his tunic awash in blood. He struggled to slide himself toward the rope. The pain nearly caused him to pass out.

Almost getting inside Hadrian’s defense, the guard halted his advance and reversed the momentum.

On his back, propped up on his elbows, Royce saw it coming but didn’t have time to warn him. As Hadrian stepped into the blood, his foot slipped.

He managed to block the blow using both hands on his great sword as if it were a staff, but the impact bounced him against the stone wall of the tower. Unlike the guard, Hadrian didn’t have a helmet. Still, he managed to anticipate the second blade. He tried to block, but not well enough, and he cried out as he fell alongside Royce.

The guard raised his weapon above both and it was a coin toss to determine which would die first.

Only Hadrian wasn’t done.

The guard was now standing in Royce’s blood too. With a scream that Royce thought was as much out of pain as determination, Hadrian drove the point of his long sword directly at the center of the guard’s breastplate. Royce saw it as a feeble act of desperation, until he realized Hadrian wasn’t trying to penetrate the armor. He shoved the golden soldier backward toward the edge of the parapet, aiming for an open crenel. When the back of the guard’s knees hit the stone, he staggered. Blood-soaked feet offered no traction and without a sound the giant, gold-clad warrior vanished over the edge.

A moment later Hadrian collapsed beside Royce and the two lay staring up at the black sky. The clouds had completed their process of covering the stars.

“Can you climb?” Royce asked.

“I think so,” Hadrian replied.

“Then get going.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I’ll be staying.” Maybe it wasn’t the clouds. Everything was blacker than usual. The edges of his vision were lost in an inky mist that was growing. “I’m either dying or about to pass out. One of us ought to survive this.”

His heart hammered, thumping way too fast for a man lying on his back. Beside him, over the ringing in his ears, he heard Hadrian get to his feet.

“Why’d you do it?” Royce asked.

“What?”

“Come back. You were safe. You were at the rope. Why’d you come back?”

“Same reason I’m not leaving you here.”

Royce heard the scrape of metal on stone as Hadrian gathered up his sword. A moment later he felt himself being moved. A sharp pain ripped through his center; then the black flooded in.

When Royce opened his eyes, nothing made sense. He was upright, his face pressed against Hadrian’s back, and the two were flying in the air. They slowed, and Royce felt the dig of the harness. Letting his head drop, Royce saw they were still halfway up the tower. The street below was a gray line no wider than a bit of string.

“What are you doing?” Royce asked.

“Welcome back.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I liked you better when you were unconscious.” Hadrian let out another length and the two plummeted.

When they slowed again, Royce felt the pain rip through him, once more making his head fuzzy. There was a tight pressure around his waist squeezing him and making it hard to breathe. “I just want to make sure you understand how utterly stupid you are. You’ll never get away dragging me with you.”

“You know, I never really appreciated your silence before, but it really is one of your virtues.”

They hung still as Hadrian prepared to jump a pin. “Don’t move.”

Royce would have laughed if he wasn’t so concerned his insides would fall out. He couldn’t see anything, but he could make guesses based on the sounds.

Hadrian grunted, shifted his body, grunted again. He made a fast jerk that bounced Royce’s head; his cheek slapped the leather of the big sword’s scabbard.

“You were right about the swords,” Royce said. “You really do need three.”

“You sound drunk.”

“I feel drunk-and I hate being drunk. Nothing works the way it’s supposed to. And it makes me act stupid … like you.”

“You’re aware I’m in the process of trying to save your life, right?”

“What part of stupid don’t you understand?”

Hadrian moved again and Royce felt the harness tighten, and once more they dropped, swung out, slowed, pushed off, and dropped again.

“Those other two swords snapped like chicken bones,” Royce said.

“Yeah, I don’t know how that happened.”

“This big one didn’t.”

“No.”

“So why not make all the swords like that?”

“I didn’t make that one.”

“So in addition to being stupid, you’re also a crappy smith?”

“I could drop you.”

“But you are a damn fine swordsman. Arcadius was right about that-the bastard. I really hate that old man.”

Another changeup, another couple drops, and they touched down. They could hear shouts, but they were on the far side of the tower. Royce looked but didn’t see any sign of the golden guard’s body. Hadrian must have pushed him off farther away than he remembered.

“Dear Maribor, you’re heavy,” Hadrian growled as he untied the rope.

“No, I’m not. You’re wounded.” Royce moved his hand and felt the blood-soaked clothes. “God, we’re bleeding like a slit throat.”

“You’re bleeding more than me,” Hadrian said.

“Oh, does that make you feel better?”

“Actually it does.”

Free of the line but with Royce still strapped to his back, Hadrian began staggering up the street. They could hear the slamming of doors and more shouts but had yet to see anyone.

“Now what?” Royce asked.

“Why ask me? I’m the idiot, remember? You’re the genius. What should we do? Go back to the horses, right?”

“We’ll never make it.”

“But you said it was an easy walk.”

“That was when I could walk and when we weren’t leaving a trail of blood. We really don’t stand a chance.”

“So far I’m not impressed with your genius.”

“I’ll admit, I think better when I’m not bleeding to death.”

Hadrian ducked into a narrow gap between two stone houses. Somewhere a horn sounded, impossible to tell where as the alarm bounced between the buildings.

“What about the river? I saw it from the tower. It’s just over here, isn’t it?” Hadrian moved deeper into the densely packed section of shops and homes. Staying to the alley, they reached the low wall that ran along a curving cobblestone street. Twenty feet below was the river. “We could jump.”

“Are you crazy?” Royce said.

“We can float, right? No blood trail, and it will carry us out of town.”

“I’ll drown.”

“Can’t you swim?”

“Normally yes, but normally I can walk too. I’m just not confident I can do it and hold my guts in at the same time. And it’s a drop. When I hit the water, I’ll pass out.”

“You’re staying strapped on my back. I’ll keep your head above the surface.”

“Then we’ll both drown.”

“Maybe.”

Hadrian peered over the edge as more horns sounded and then a bell began ringing.

“Okay,” Royce said.

“Okay what?”

“Okay let’s jump in the river.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. As long as we go in together-that way I’ll know that if I die, you will too.”

He heard Hadrian laugh. “Deal.”

Hadrian took a step. As he did, Royce gained a clear view of the alley and saw the remains of a broken crate. “Wait.”

“What?”

“Grab that wooden box in the alley.”

Hadrian turned. “How did you see that?”

More bells chimed, and the horns continued to blare until it sounded like midnight on Wintertide. Then at last with box in hand, Hadrian climbed up on the wall. Royce felt the unsteady lurch as Hadrian pushed himself up and almost stumbled.

“Hold your nose,” Hadrian told him, “and try not to scream. This is going to hurt.”

“Probably only for a second.” Royce chuckled. He’d given up caring and discovered all that was left was the absurd.

“Always the optimist, aren’t you?”

“Jump already!”

“Okay, set?”

“Yes.”

“One … two…”

“Before I die, please.”

Hadrian grunted. Royce felt the lunge and the fall. Rushing air blew back his hair, then … nothing.