Murtagh

Murtagh bundled the red cloak of the watch around one arm as he led Silna out from under the bridge. He glanced up and down the banks of the stream and—seeing them clear—scrambled up into the street.

He turned to make sure Silna was following.

The instant the werecat cleared the top of the bank, she took off between the buildings, sprinting faster than any human, her stiff tail tracing circles behind her.

Murtagh swore and started after her, but Silna had already vanished into the city, and he could see people staring at him from across the way. He risked opening his mind, but it was as if the werecat had ceased to exist. All he could feel were humans and dogs and the self-satisfied thoughts of a notch-eared tomcat sitting atop a plank fence.

He swore and then swore again.

There was no helping it. Silna was gone, and he had no confidence he could find her again, even if he searched for days. All he could do was hope the guards didn’t spot her and that she was able to return to her own kind.

He swore once more. He had rescued Silna. But would Carabel still give him the answers he sought if he couldn’t deliver the youngling to her? He chewed on the question for a time. It left a bad taste on his tongue.

If the werecat refused…he would insist. That much he was sure of. After everything he’d done for Carabel, he was due his answers. And if, by insisting, he ended up turning werecats as a whole against him—and Thorn—well, that was the price they’d have to pay.

There was only one way to find out.

He pulled his hood over his head and hurried deeper into Gil’ead.

CHAPTER XIII Confrontation with a Cat

It was still early dawn, and all was grey and silent except for the occasional tromp of soldiers and the cry of the watch.

A direct approach to the fortress would have been suicidal, so Murtagh skirted the center of the city and kept to alleys and side streets where possible.

The few folks he encountered gave him suspicious glances, but no more than the situation warranted. All of Gil’ead felt tense, alert, as if violence could break out at any moment. Shutters in houses swung shut seemingly of their own accord when he lifted his gaze, and he saw members of the guard posted along the main thoroughfares.

Murtagh couldn’t stop worrying about Silna as he made his way through the city. Difficult and standoffish though she’d been, he hoped that she was safe and that the guards wouldn’t catch her. She was so small and young…. I should have done a better job of watching her, he thought.

As he neared the fortress, he slowed to a measured walk, not wanting to rush headlong into a dangerous situation.

Without too much trouble, he found the house that Bertolf, Carabel’s manservant, had brought him to before. Murtagh wondered if Carabel owned the elegant building or if she had an arrangement with whoever did. It seemed risky to be ducking in and out of a secret tunnel on a property where you didn’t know who might be watching.

With quick steps, he descended the stone stairs to the well set ten feet or so below the surface of the ground. There, he pushed on the same piece of carving as had Bertolf, and the hidden door swung open.

Murtagh wasn’t eager to again enter a tunnel, but at least he was familiar with this one, and it was far, far shorter than the maze they’d spent most of the night wandering. The thought reminded him of his lost sleep, and he fought back a powerful yawn. Two bad nights in a row took their toll.

He ducked beneath the lintel and walked in. Behind him, the door swung shut with a thud of deadly finality, and darkness swallowed him.

Somewhere ahead of him, the skittering footsteps of a mouse sounded.

“Great,” he said, starting forward with one hand against the wall for balance. “Just great.”

***

Murtagh growled as he entered the storage room at the end of the tunnel and his shin banged against the lip of a step. Once he closed the tunnel’s other entrance, he listened for anyone in the hall outside. This time he used his mind also, sending his thoughts searching for nearby beings. The only one he found was a rather frightened mouse in a crack along the wall of the storeroom.

Now! Murtagh left the storeroom and hurried through the same side passages Bertolf had led him through during his last visit. He was grateful that the path had been easy to remember and that it was still early enough that most of the fortress’s inhabitants had yet to wake. Plenty of the servants would already be after their duties, but he didn’t think he needed to worry about running into the castle’s baker that far outside of the kitchens.

Nevertheless, he was happy to reach the paneled door to the werecat’s study without incident.

He didn’t bother knocking; he lifted the latch on the door and pushed. It wasn’t locked or barred and swung inward with hardly a sound.

***