The street below was deserted now. They jumped down to it and
darted into the shadows on the other side. Slipping along the walls
of buildings they followed its twisting length for some time. An
occasional cloaked form passed silently by; otherwise there was only
the bitter wind echoing hollowly along the tunnel-like streets.
Of a sudden Alfric stiffened. He heard the measured tramp of feet--a
city patrol approaching, just around the next corner. Whirling, he led
the way into an alley black as a cave mouth. It was blind, but there
was a door at the end, from behind which came the twanging of harps and
the thin evil whine of desert flutes. A tavern--shelter, of a sort--
Moonlight glistened on steel as the half-dozen guardsmen passed the
alley--passed, stopped, and turned back. "They may be here," Alfric
heard a voice.
Cursing under his breath, the northerner opened the door and stepped
through, into a room barely lit by a few tapers, thick with smoke and
the smell of unwashed bodies. Alfric's nostrils quivered at the heavy
sweet odor of shivash, and he noticed the floor covered with stupefied
smokers. A little yellow man scurried back and forth, filling the
pipes. At the farther end, with music and girls, were wine-drinkers,
ragged men of ill aspect who looked up with hands on knives.
Freha slammed the bolt down behind them, and Alfric brandished his
great sword and said to them all: "Show us a way out."
A fist beat on the door, a voice shouted: "Open, in the name of the
Holy Temple!"
"No way out," gasped the landlord.
"There is always an exit to these dens," snapped Freha. "Show us, or we
split your skull."
A man's knife-hand moved with blurring speed. Alfric stopped the thrown
dagger with his sword-blade in a clang of steel, caught it in midair,
and hurled it back. The man screamed as it thunked into his belly.
"Out!" snarled the barbarian, and his glaive sang about the landlord's
ears.
"Here," cried the little man, running toward the end of the room.
The door groaned as the guardsmen hurled themselves against it.
The landlord opened a concealed trapdoor. Only darkness was visible
below. Alfric snatched a torch from the wall and saw a tunnel of dark
stone. "Down!" he rapped, and Freha jumped. He followed, bolting the
trap behind him. It was of heavy iron--the soldiers would have to work
to break through it.
The tunnel stretched hollowly away on either side. Freha broke into a
run and Alfric loped beside her, the torch streaming in one hand and
the sword agleam in the other. Their footfalls echoed through the cold
moist dark.
"What is this?" he asked.
"Old sewers--not used now when water is scarce--a warren under the
city--" gasped Freha.
"We can hide here, then," he panted.
"No--only the Temple knows all the passages--they'll have slaves
guarding every exit--we'll be trapped unless we get out soon--"
Dim sky showed ahead, a hole with a rusted iron ladder leading up into
it. Alfric doused his torch and swung noiselessly up the rungs to peer
out.
The manhole opened into one of the ruinous abandoned districts,
crumbling structures and shards of stone half buried by the drifting
sand. Three guardsmen stood watching, spears at the ready. Otherwise
there were only the moons and the wind and the silently watching stars.
Alfric's lip twisted in a snarl. So--the holes were already plugged!
But--wait, all egresses could not be guarded yet; best to go on in
search of another--no, by the time the fugitives got there it might be
watched too. Here there was as least an absence of people to interfere.
* * * * *
He sprang out and rushed at the three, so swiftly that they were hardly
aware of him before his blade was shrieking about them. One man tumbled
with his head nearly sheared off. Another yelled, leaping back to
thrust with his spear. Alfric dodged the jab, grabbed the shaft in one
hand and pulled. The guardsman stumbled forward and Alfric's sword rang
on his helmet. He dropped, stunned by the fury of the blow.
[Illustration: _Alfric jumped out and rushed at the three, his blade
shrieking...._]
The third was on Alfric like an angry jaccur. His spear-thrust furrowed
along the barbarian's ribs. Alfric closed in, grinning savagely in the
cold white moonlight, and thrust with his sword. The guard parried
the blow with his small buckler, dropped his spear, and drew his
shortsword. Bending low, he rushed in, probing for Alfric's guts, and
the northerner skipped aside barely in time. The broadsword chopped
down, through the guard's left leg. Blood spurted, the man crashed to
earth, and Alfric stabbed him through the face before he could scream.
The second was climbing dizzily to his feet. Alfric knocked the sword
from a nerveless hand and brought his own blade against the guardsman's
throat. "Hold," he said. "One word, one movement, and you'll roll in
the gutter with your comrades."
Freha came up, the cloak blowing about her wonderful naked body in
the wild wind. She was a fay sight under the moons, and the prisoner
groaned as he saw her. "Lady--lady, forgive--"
"Forgive a traitor?" she asked, wrath sparking in her voice.
"Why are the priests after me?" rapped Alfric.