[Firefoot]

A trap. Siamak had feared it was so, should have known it was so when he heard the Orc cries even as Tarkan led them into a deep little cellar with only one (apparent) way out and started rambling on about some preposterous claim. He had not seen the forlorn look on Tarkan’s face, had not even considered that it was not Tarkan who had betrayed them but Pelin. Gjeelea had had the right of it, it seemed, and now, Gjeelea was… somewhere. A prayer to Rhais for his sister flashed through his mind. He could not dwell on Gjeelea, however, for Zamara’s and his own plight was more pressing to him.

Hand in hand, they fled through the dark tunnel. He held his other hand, holding the sword, out in front of him, fearing to run smack into an unseen wall. He heard a crash behind them; apparently the tunnel had been broken into. Tarkan’s fate was his own, now, and frankly, Siamak felt little pity for the man he figured had betrayed them, especially considering that it would not now be long before there were Orcs hot on their trail. He hoped there was an exit to this tunnel, that this wasn’t just a dead end leading into some farther room.

They rounded a corner and could see faint moonlight filtering through the cracks of a wooden door. They came to an abrupt halt and in the same motion were checking for the bolt. Like the other door, it latched from the inside, however, the door being less used, the bolt had rusted and become stuck in place. Siamak struggled with it as the seconds ticked by. He could hear Orcs in the passage now, both by their heavy, iron-shod footsteps and their loud, uncouth cries. Still, the bolt would not give, though he could feel the imprint of rusted metal upon his palms. It helped not at all that he could not see an more of it than a dim outline, and that when he stepped back from it.

In desperation, he finally picked up his sword which he had propped against the wall. He muttered a warning to Zamara to stay clear as he raised his sword and jammed the hilt down upon the bolt. He felt it give a little, and repeated the action. It came completely free of the door and in the hard downward motion Siamak could feel his knuckles scrape against door. In some dim corner of his mind he felt pain, but this hardly registered. The Orcs had become increasingly louder and within a few heartbeats’ time would be upon them. With a mighty shove, the door swung open and after hurriedly sheathing his sword, Siamak and Zamara were running again.

The tunnel had opened into a dingy alley about two blocks down from the temple. Siamak neither knew nor cared why, only that it did. They approached the street with heedless caution. Looking one way, Siamak could see in the torchlight the temple and the hundreds of Orcs swarming about it. Subconsciously he realized that the torches could be either their greatest aid or downfall: beyond the torches, he knew the dark would seem all the darker and hide those in it.

Hearing the Orcs’ clamor close behind them, they plunged down the street, keeping close to the buildings for what cover they would provide. They had not even reached the corner of the street, however, when a shout went up that could not be mistaken even in the Orcs’ foul language.

They had been spotted.

The two cloaked figures flew down the street, at a faster pace than before if that was possible. They turned the first corner they came to, then a second shortly after that. They had unfortunately been far enough apart that the Orcs had not lost track of them. Siamak did not know how much farther he could run, but fear drove him on. Almost immediately after a third corner Siamak caught sight of a narrow alleyway that connected this street and the next with only a low fence between them. He reached out and pulled Zamara after him, disappearing from the street. They half jumped, half climbed over the wooden fence, which rose to about Siamak’s waist. Now it would take a few minutes for the Orcs to figure out where they had gone. They slowed their insane pace, more out of necessity than desire, and stayed close to the buildings.

Siamak began to get his bearings again as he realized that they had run from the business section of the town into a more residential area, albeit a rather poor one. He also judged that they were nearing the wharf by the faint but distinctive smell of fish. He wasn’t sure if knowing where they were helped or not, but it was at least vaguely comforting to know their location.

In desperate need of a breather, they ducked into a narrow space between two houses with a couple of scant bushes providing some cover. Both knew the value of silence, but their heavy breathing came in deep shuddering breaths that would seem to give away their precise location. They strained their ears for some sign of the Orcs. Evident confusion and anger reigned at the disappearance of their quarry, and it seemed an eternity before they moved on to the next street. To their relieved surprise, none came down the street on which they hid. The shouts faded and Siamak dared to whisper, “Now what? Even if we wanted to, we could get back into the palace. We cannot go back to the temple – any of them, for that matter. Nor can we go far; the farther we must go, the more likely we are to find some more Orcs. We need someplace to hole up, at least for the night, so that we will be able to get news in the morning.”

Both were silent for a moment, thinking. Then Zamara replied, “Best would be if we knew the home of someone we could know to be willing to help us, but I wouldn’t know who.”

“My guess is as good as yours. I would imagine that few people are truly loyal to the crown as it is now and would support us, if they were part of a large enough group – let’s say 80 percent of the families on this street – those odds would seem to favor us.”

Zamara finished Siamak’s thought. “Except most of them would be too scared, especially in a secretive support like this, turning the odds against us.”

Again, they fell silent. Their situation really was quite hopeless, and all paths seemed ill. Suddenly they heard movement in the house on their right. They froze. Surely no one had heard them?

A shuttered window above them was opened a crack. Siamak was not sure whether he wanted to be seen or not. They were desperate, and Siamak decided to trust his luck once more this night. He stood, saying, “We mean no harm; we are hiding from the hosts of Orcs in the city and have nowhere to go.” Zamara stood up as well beside him.

The person at the window did not say anything for a long moment, and when he did his voice was little more than a whisper: “Prince Siamak?”

Siamak stood for a moment in shock, his mind placing the pieces together in slow motion. “Jarult?” he asked, though he already knew. He pushed back his cloak’s hood enough for his face to be seen. Chance of all chances! In all of Kanak, they had picked the one house that belonged to the single person whom Siamak knew could be trusted. “And this-” he nodded toward Zamara, “-is the High Priestess Zamara.”