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witless with terror; I had him knocked in the head and put on one of the coaches with the wounded. Of Djaimos I know nothing. But Myros, why did you not wait long enough to help us, at least, in organizing a decent withdrawal? The Confederation cavalry weren’t all that close—not when you must have left.”
    Eyes widening, Myros’ face paled and he tottered back, clutching at the doorframe for support. “
Con
—
Confederation cavalry
? You…you’re
certain
?”
    Drehkos strode forward, his lips skinned back in a wolfish grin, amused at the abrupt collapse of Myros’ bravado. “Oh, aye, I’m certain, Myros. Where else would several thousand fully armed and equipped
kahtahfrahktoee
and some hundreds of lancers come from, hey?”
    “The…the troops of Vawn…? The re—reinforcements we ex—expected…?” stuttered the shaking
vahrohnos
.
    Drehkos laughed gratingly. “Hardly, Myros, hardly. Not riding in from the northwest. And the Vawnee scouts recognized none of them. And,” he casually added, “their banners bore prairiecats…all save one, and that one was a fish and something like a weasel, or so I was told.” Then he fell silent, aghast, as the
vahrohnos’
appearance and demeanor underwent so sudden and radical a change that he seemed in the throes of a seizure.
    Features contorted, body and limbs jerking, twitching, the
vahrohnos
stumbled back into the foyer, then crashed back full-length upon the floor, sprawled across a mosaic representing the Red Eagle of Morguhn. Abruptly, his eyes rolled back and consciousness left him.
    The shock mirrored on the faces of servants and bodyguards alike, as they rushed to the assistance of their swooning master, answered Drehkos’ unspoken query; such paroxysms must never before have occurred during their service to
Vahrohnos
Myros.
    But, as he had earlier this morning, he immediately took command, snapping, “Don’t put him to bed, get him on a horse litter. We’re leaving Morguhnpolis as soon as the Vawnee rearguard gets here!”
    The guard captain looked up from where he squatted at the
Vahrohnos’
head. “But I only have thirty men, Lord Drehkos, and some of them are wounded, and that’s not enough to fight our way through that scum in the streets—not and protect Lord Myros, too. Besides, it was his order that we remain and defend the city.”
    Drehkos snorted disparagingly. “And a piss-poor order
that
was, my good Gahlos. This city is a deathtrap. It can’t be defended, and the esteemed Myros should have known as much, considering his training and experience. As for the dear citizens, captain, if they are properly handled, they’ll pose no threat to us. Indeed, they may even be of help to us.”
    The tunnel was old, very old. So ancient was it that no living man had been aware of its existence a year before. Its rediscovery had been accidental, Myros having secretly commissioned workmen to excavate just such a passage, as well as a clandestine meeting place and armory, below the lowest cellars of the governor’s palace. But when the first heavy stones of the cellar paving had been raised, it had been discovered that under them was not the expected earth and clay, but, rather, tightly packed rubble. When cleared, the find proved to be an oval, high-ceilinged chamber, walled and columned and paved with finely worked stone, boasting two wide staircases and a long, gradual ramp leading upward, requiring only removal of certain areas of pavement to provide easy access to the subcellar by man or beast.
    Examination and careful measurement established the subcellar to be even larger than the palace above it. And in the center of the north wall was plain evidence of a sealed opening—unmatched stones of inferior workmanship spanning a width of two
metrobee
and a height of nearly three.
    The passage far exceeded any of Myros’ expectations, being stone-walled and cobbled for most of its length. It was wide enough to accommodate a warcart or two horses