Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [36]
Galrion ran from hut to hut and shed to shed until he reached the stables. Abutting directly on the wall was a storage shed that he could climb easily. He swung from the roof to the wall, then crawled on his stomach until he reached a place where an oak grew on the far side. He swung into the branches, climbed down, then lingered in the safe shadows. He could see down the long slope of parkland to the outer ring, where, against the starry sky moved the dark shapes of the night guards, patrolling the ramparts. The most dangerous part of the escape lay ahead.
Galrion circled the inner ring until he could see the road leading down to the outer gates. He crawled down-hill in the long grass until he was out of sight of the guard at the inner gates, then stood up and boldly walked down the road. When he came close to the guard station, he broke into a run.
“Here!” Galrion made his voice as high and unsteady as a lads. “Open up! An errand for the cook.”
“Hold, lad.” A guard stepped forward to peer at him in the darkness. “That’s a likely tale.”
“Nerdda’s having her child,” Galrion said. “And it’s bad. The midwife needs the apothecary. Please hurry.”
“That’s the kitchen wench,” another guard called out. “She’s been heavy for weeks now.”
Hardly daring to believe in his success, Galrion raced through the postern gate and kept running until he was well into the silent city. He crouched among some empty ale barrels behind a tavern and caught his breath while he considered his next move. Not the best trick in the world would get him past the guards at the city gates, but the river flowed through the arches in the walls without asking anyone’s permission. Cautiously he stood up and began slipping through the alleys behind the buildings. He was halfway to the river when he heard footsteps behind him. He flung himself into a doorway and crouched in the shadows as a pair of drunken riders from the King’s warband staggered past. They weren’t more than two yards beyond him when one of them burst out singing at the top of his lungs. Galrion cursed him and prayed that the city guards wouldn’t come running to deal with the nuisance.
At last the riders were gone, and the street silent again. With a constant eye out for trouble, Galrion made his way down to the riverbank and waded out to the deep part of the channel. As he let the current take him, he saw, far above, guards pacing back arid forth on the city wall. Closer, closer—the river was sweeping him along fast to the point where they might look down and see him. He held his breath and plunged deep. In the murky water it was hard to see, but he thought he saw the darker stone of the arches sweep by him. His lungs ached, began to burn like fire, but he forced himself to stay down until the desperate pain drove him, panting and gasping, to the surface. He swung himself over on his back like a seal and barely swam while he breathed in the blessed air. The guards and city both lay far behind him, and no one else was out on the riverbank.
Galrion made his way to the bank and crawled out under a copse of willow trees. Free, he thought. Now all I’ve got to do is get to Brangwen. Galrion wrung the worst of the water out of his clothes and put them back on damp. The sky told him that he had about five hours till dawn. His page wouldn’t find Mae for about another hour after that, and there was bound to be another hour’s confusion before the King’s warband rode out to hunt him down. It wasn’t much of a lead, but if he could only reach the wild forest, they would never find him. He knew the tracks through it, while the riders would be blundering