There was a thin whisper of sound as he left. She propped herself against the wall and tried to use the pain-deadening tricks she’d been taught to ease her shoulder and her throbbing loins. She would not let herself hope that the trader would keep his promise, but strove to remain passive, unfeeling, in a kind of numbness. It was still dark when she heard a scratch and the trader’s voice.

“Lady, I have all you asked for. It’s coming now.”

She pulled herself up the wall and reached for the bundle that dangled from the ceiling with her good hand, feeling more of the injured shoulder muscles tear as she reached up.

“The bottle holds fourteen drams, and it is full.”

“May the Lord of Lights and the Fair Lady shine on you, friend, and all your kin and trade—” she replied fervently, loosening the stopper enough to catch the distinctive sweet-sour odor of argonel. The bottle was completely full. “Leave the string. You will be taking something up in a moment and doing me another service—one last office that will free you of life-debt entirely.”

“I am yours to command,” he replied with simple sincerity.

She snapped the head from the first arrow by holding it under one foot. She let the tears flow freely as she patterned it with Kris’ fletching pattern, grateful that she’d been made to learn to do the task in the dark, and finding it hard to continue with the memory fresh of him teaching her his own pattern. The headless arrow—code for a Herald dead. Now for the most important half of the message—code for herself; and code for the mission in such ruins that no attempt at rescue should be made. She broke the second arrow in half and patterned the fletching as her own. She tore the remains of one sleeve from her shirt, secured the arrows into a compact bundle with it, and fastened the whole to the string dangling down from the hole in the ceiling.

“Trader, pull it up.”

It gleamed for a moment against the stone, then was gone.

“Now listen carefully. I want you to leave now, before dawn, before the Prince tries to seal the city. You must get outside the city gates.”

“There is a guard at the night-gate I know I can bribe.”

“Good. Just out of sight of the guardpost on the main highway that runs from the Triumph Gate there is a shrine to the god of wayfarers.”

“I know the place.”

“My horse will find you there.” The one thing that damned magician couldn’t block was her bond with Rolan! “Tie the bundle around his neck, just as it is, then take whatever plan seems good to you. If I were you, I would make a run for the Border; you’ll be safe enough on the Valdemar side. Know that you have all my thanks and all my blessings.”

“Lady—a horse?”

She remembered then that he was Hardornen, and couldn’t know how unlike horses the Companions were.