Luck in the Shadows

hardly believing what he'd just seen. For the first time since his capture, he felt the beginnings of hope.
    Rolan watched him closely, looking as if he'd reached a not entirely agreeable decision. At last he sighed and said, "I suppose you'd better come with me." Pushing his hair impatiently back from his eyes, he turned to Morden with a thin, unfriendly smile.
    "But you, my friend, you seem to set remarkably small value on your life."
    "Good sir," Morden stammered, cowering back, "I'm only a humble peasant but I'm certain my life means as much to me—was Rolan cut him off with an impatient gesture, then reached forward to thrust his hand into the neck of the man's grimy jerkin. He yanked out a thin silver chain and dangled it in Morden's face.
    "You're not very convincing, you know. Louts though they are, Asengai's men are far too thorough to miss a bauble like this."
    His voice is different! Alec thought, watching the strange confrontation in confusion. Rolan wasn't lisping at all now; he just sounded dangerous.
    "I should also tell you, by way of instruction, that tortured men are usually extremely thirsty," the bard continued. "Unless they smell of ale, as you do. I trust you and the guards had a pleasant supper together? I wonder what sort of blood is it you're smeared with?"
    "Your mother's moon flow!" Morden snarled, his simple expression vanishing as he pulled a small dagger from his legging and lunged at Rolan.
    The bard dodged the attack and drove his clenched fist against Morden's throat, crushing his larynx.
    A swift jab of his elbow to Morden's temple felled the man like an ox; he collapsed in the straw at Rolan's feet, blood flowing from his mouth and ear.
    "You killed him!" Alec said faintly.
    Rolan pressed a finger to Morden's throat, then nodded. "Seems I did. The fool should've yelled for the guards."
    Alec cringed back against the clammy stone as Rolan turned to him.
    "Steady now," the man said, and Alec was surprised to see he was smiling. "Do you want to get out of here or not?"
    Alec managed a mute nod, then sat rigidly while Rolan unlocked his chains. When he'd finished he went back to Morden's body.
    "Now let's see who you were." Sliding the dead man's dagger into his boot, Rolan pulled up the soiled jerkin to examine the hairy torso beneath.
    "Hmm, that's no great surprise," he muttered, probing at the left armpit.
    Curious in spite of his fear, Alec crept just close enough to peer over Rolan's shoulder.
    "See here?" Rolan showed him a triangle of three tiny blue circles tattooed into the pale skin where the arm joined the body.
    "What does it mean?"
    "It's a guild mark. He was a Juggler."
    "A mountebank?"
    "No," Rolan snorted. "A keek, a ferret. The Jugglers carry out any sort of dirty mischief for the right price. They swarm around petty lords like Asengai the way blow flies gather on a midden." Tugging the dead man's jerkin off, he thrust it into Alec's hands. "Here, put this on. And hurry! I'll say this just once; fall behind and you're on your own!"
    The garment was filthy and soaked with blood at the neck, but Alec obeyed quickly, pulling it on with a shudder of revulsion. By the time he'd gotten it on, Rolan was already at work on the lock.
    "Rusty son of a whore," he remarked, spitting into the keyhole. The lock gave way at last and he opened the door a crack, peering out.
    "Looks clear," he whispered. "Stay close and do what I tell you."
    Alec's heart hammered in his ears as he followed Rolan out into the corridor. Several yards down lay the room where Asengai's men carried out their tortures. Beyond that, the door to the warder's room stood open and they could hear the noise of a rowdy game of some sort in progress.
    Rolan's boots made no more noise than Alec's bare feet as the two of them crept up to the open doorway. Rolan cocked his head, then held up four fingers. With a quick motion he indicated that Alec should cross the doorway quickly and quietly.
    Alec stole a glance inside. Four guards were kneeling around a cloak on the floor. One cast the knucklebones and coins changed hands amid much good-natured cursing.
    Waiting until their attention was focused on the next toss, Alec slipped across to the other side.
    Rolan joined him soundlessly and they hurried around a corner and down a stairway. A lamp burned in a shallow niche at the bottom. Rolan took it and set off again.
    Alec knew nothing of the lay of the place and quickly lost all sense of direction as they made their