The Silver Sun Read Online Free PDF Page B

injuries, for he fully realized that in the near future he was likely to face far worse. He could see only a choice between death and a fate worse than death: lifelong dishonor of a type Alan could not suspect. But Hal clung to hope. While life remained, there was a chance of escape, as he knew from his past. Though to escape from such a stronghold not once, but twice, was far beyond the bounds of what he thought his luck would bear.
    He heard approaching footsteps, and stiffened in surprise and fear. Surely they would not be coming for him already! But footsteps stopped at his cell door, and a cold voice said, “Open it.” Despair washed over Hal; he struggled to conceal it. Two guards were coming through the door, the first a stocky man with a candle and a strangely pale face, the second—Hal's jaw dropped; surprise and joy flooded him like morning sunlight. It was Alan, but an Alan he had never seen. His usually friendly, open face was set in ruthless lines. He spoke again in that voice Hal had not recognized: “Free him, or you die.” His knife nudged the guard's ribs.
    Hal felt his arms freed, then his legs. He rolled out of the way, rubbing his numbed limbs. He could not stand up, but he was able to hold the fetters while Alan locked them on his own prisoner. Alan gagged the guard before he slipped his knife back into its leather sheath.
    Instantly he turned to Hal and grasped his hand in concern, all traces of the alien hardness gone from his face. They met each other's eyes in silence for a moment before Alan helped Hal to his feet. Pain shot through his legs as he tried to straighten himself. “There,” Hal gasped finally. “I am all right. Did Arundel come to you?"
    “Ay,” said Alan. “Can you walk, Hal?"
    “In a moment I shall be able to."
    Alan divested the guard of his helmet, breastplate and cloak, then helped Hal buckle them on. The things were rather large. “Could you not find me a better fit?” Hal grumbled in mock displeasure, and for the first time that night Alan broke his tension with a smile. They took the candle and left the cell. The hapless guard glared after them. Alan locked the door and threw the keys through the grating into the straw of the cell, well out of reach of the prisoner.
    “That might puzzle them for a while,” he said, and smiled again.
    “Keep your hands under the cloak,” he instructed Hal as they moved down the corridor. “Keep your face in the shadow of the helmet, and do not let the torchlight fall on your legs.” He left the candle in the guardroom, frowning with thought. “The doorkeeper we can silence, if need be, for he is alone. But the walls—it puzzles me what to do."
    “How did you get in?” asked Hal logically.
    “Climbed the cliff."
    “Mighty Mothers!” whispered Hal. “We had better try the gate, since we are disguised."
    The moon was darkened as they came to the door. Hal and Alan saw apprehensively that the doorkeeper was chatting with a guard. But, engrossed in their conversation, the two men gave them only a glance and a nod as they passed out. In the dark and the flickering torchlight, it was hard for them to see more than a flash of helmet and breastplate.
    “So far, well enough,” whispered Alan when they were halfway across the courtyard. “Pace like a guard, Hal."
    It was by now well past midnight, and the watch was tired. The dozing sentries took no notice as they strode under the stone archway beneath the castle gatehouse. As quietly as they could, they unbarred the heavy wooden doors and spread them wide. The drawbridge was in place over the ditch, Hal noted gratefully; that unwieldy mechanism took many men to turn. Nothing stood in their way except the spiked, iron-shod portcullis. Alan ducked into the gatekeeper's room and started to winch it up. The noise quickly brought several surprised guards.
    “What's afoot?” asked the first.
    Hal blocked, without seeming to block, the gatehouse door. “Visitors,” he said