"It wouldn't be the first time a junior officer thought he had divine guidance when he was simply aching for an adventure. I tell you, Ambros, that you're a fool if you tackle Achrya with a thief and a mercenary for aid." He gave Paks a hard look. "Assuming you're thinking of going with him. I think you're honest, but—"

Paks felt a burst of anger. "Sir Felis, if you have cause for that—"

"No. All right, I'll admit you've done well so far—I said it earlier. But you're all young, and like any young fighters, you've got the sense of a clatter of colts. Wait for the Marshal, Ambros. Don't drag others into your romantic dream." Sir Felis pushed himself up and made for the door, pausing beside Arvid. "And you, master thief-not-a-thief, if you push that boy into rash action, I'll not forget who started it."

"Sir Felis," said Arvid coolly, "I'll not forget who was unwilling to root out the deepest evil." He moved aside from the door, as Sir Felis spat where his feet had been and went out.

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Arvid's black-clothed form seemed to melt into the shadows as they moved farther away from the stairway, where dim light came from above. Paks felt a tightness in her chest. She did not like dark underground places, and wondered for a moment why she had agreed to come. Ambros nudged her in the back. She waved a hand at him, and took another careful step. Another. Surely it was ridiculous to come on something like this with only six, one of them an untried junior yeoman, an eager girl who would be all too likely to do something silly trying to prove herself. Arvid signalled, a wave of his arm, and Paks moved lightly toward him. He was the scout, accustomed, he said, to noticing traps. Paks, the most experienced sword fighter, came second.

After her, Suli and Ambros together. Paks hoped the yeoman-marshal would be steadied by steadying the junior yeoman. Mal brought up the rear with Jori, a friend of his.

"Door," said Arvid quietly in her ear. "I'll try it. Hinges right. Swings out." Paks flattened herself to the left of the door; she saw a gleam of teeth as Arvid smiled. He ran his hands over the door for a moment, then did something Paks could not see to the lock. A nod of satisfaction; he drew his own blade and slowly pulled the door open. Paks waited, ready to strike. Nothing happened. She craned her neck and looked. Even deeper blackness. A sour smell wafted out, a stench like old rotting leaves and bones. Arvid put his sword through the door. Nothing. With a shrug, he leaned around the frame, poking at the darkness as if it were a pillow.

"Light?" asked Ambros softly. He had come quite close.

"Not yet. It makes a target of us."

"Yes, but we aren't cats—"