Shadows Return

his robe off, and Seregil satisfied himself that, apart from some bruises, he wasn’t injured. Between the two of them, Alec appeared to have been handled more gently, except for those times in the cellar. He pulled on the new clothing quickly, slipped his dagger into the top of one stolen boot, and looped his sword belt over his shoulder.
    While Alec changed, Seregil started to help Ilar roughly into Alec’s discarded robe, but stopped at the sound of the man’s strangled whimper. The stripes on his back weren’t deep, but they were bloody, and still crusted with salt. Every movement must be agony.
    A water bucket stood by the athanor and Seregil used it to rinse away what he could from the wounds. Ilar trembled but stayed silent.
    Seregil pulled the loose robe over the man’s head, keeping the fabric from pulling at the wounds as best he could, and handed him the worn pair of shoes Alec had discarded. “Now, where’s this escape route?”
    Ilar went to one of the smaller anvils near the forge. “Here. Underneath.”
    Seregil grabbed it by the horn and heel, and strained to lift it. It tilted slightly, and a crack of darkness appeared under the section of floor it was bolted to. Alec joined him, pushing from the other side and together they tilted the trapdoor back until the edge of the anvil was resting on the floor. The underside was sheathed crossways with wooden planks, with a large iron ring in the middle. A small, timber-braced shaft led straight down into darkness. A wooden ladder was bolted to one side.
    “I overheard Ilban telling the children about it,” Ilar explained. “It goes down to a tunnel leading away from the house, in case of invaders.”
    Seregil turned to look for something useful to take, but Alec held up a bundle of his own. “We’re ready.”
    Alec had also fashioned a cloth sling like the ones northland farmwomen used to carry their small children on their backs as they worked the fields. He hoisted the child into it and showed Seregil how it left both his hands free. The boy clutched the back of his coat, skinny bare legs dangling against Alec’s hips.
    Seregil sighed. Sling or no sling, sooner or later the little one would be a hindrance. But at least he was quiet; he hadn’t made a sound.
    Seregil pushed Ilar toward the trapdoor. “You first.”
    The man gave him a shaky nod, then grasped the top of the ladder and slowly began the climb down, pain clear in every move. Little spots of fresh blood had already soaked through the back of his robe.
    Alec went next, moving as if the child weighed nothing at all. The child didn’t so much as whimper as Alec started down.
    When the others were out of sight, Seregil slung his own sword belt over his shoulder, tucked the neck of his bundle through his belt, and set his feet on the ladder. It took both hands and all his weight to pull the heavy door down, and then he narrowly missed being brained as it fell heavily back into place. He ended up hanging by one hand from the iron ring in total darkness. He found the ladder with his foot and quickly made his way down by feel.
    The shaft was very deep. He had splinters in both hands by the time he saw a faint light below.
    Ilar stood at the bottom with the others, holding up a candle. The space here was not much bigger than the shaft itself, but just behind him was a sturdy-looking oak door.
    “It’s locked,” Alec told him, yanking at the iron handle above a keyhole.
    “Give me your pick.”
    “I tried it. It won’t budge.”
    Seregil held out his hand and Alec shrugged and gave him the metal pin.
    Kneeling, Seregil probed the wards inside. “Tricky.”
    “You cut your hair,” Alec noted, running his fingers through the uneven fringe at the nape of Seregil’s neck.
    Seregil’s skin tingled at the touch but he kept his mind on the business at hand. “Assuming I get this open, where does it lead?”
    “I don’t know,” Ilar replied.
    “Bastard!” Seregil growled, still grinding away. “Why am I even listening to you?”
    “Because I’m the only bastard you have?” Ilar replied with just a hint of his old smugness.
    Seregil’s fingers clenched on the pick. “Hold the light over this way.”
    “Well, it must lead away from the house,” Ilar offered weakly as Seregil went back to work on the lock. “Alec, I think you should leave that behind. Master Yhakobin will stop at nothing to get it back.”
    “Shut up!”
    Seregil looked sharply over his shoulder. “Stop