‘I dare you to do the same to the next door,’ Konall said.
Gerens grunted. ‘I don’t mind getting wet. Better than waiting to be stuck with a sword.’
Light penetrated no more than a few yards behind them into the passage, and they felt their way at a trot through the black, feet slipping on the damp stone of the floor. Brann strained his eyes for the slightest hint of light ahead but still discovered the door with his hands rather than his eyes. The others piled up behind him, then backed off slightly as his fingers found three large bolts and slid them free. He yanked at a handle, and old hinges groaned as he heaved it open at the second attempt. The moon was shining from the far side of the town, but outside was lighter than the tunnel and some little vision returned to them, the water of the moat a deeper black than what lay beyond. He knelt and felt in the darkness.
‘There should be a plank lying at the side of the tunnel,’ he called urgently. ‘Run it across the moat and we are away.’
‘I have it,’ came Grakk’s voice. ‘But it will not be our bridge. Wet floors and wood are excellent for rot, but not for strength.’
Brann cursed. There was no option. ‘Gerens, you will get your swim after all.’
The shouts behind were nearing the broken door behind them. Brann launched himself blindly into the moat, hitting the water and hearing the muffled splashes of the others doing likewise before he regained the surface. The distinctive taste in his mouth was expected – and welcome, under the circumstances – but had obviously come as a surprise to Konall.
‘What in all the hells have we jumped into?’ the boy spluttered.
Brann grinned. ‘Just don’t drink any of it.’ At least it meant that the others were waiting for them.
Grakk called to him. Brann saw his dark silhouette crouched at the doorway and was handed the bundle of documents. He took them in one hand while his other kept his head above the water, then watched in alarm as the gangly figure leapt wildly past him in the general direction of the others.
‘That was Grakk!’ he yelled above the sound of the splash. ‘Remember he can’t swim.’
‘Got him, chief,’ came Gerens’s voice. ‘What are you doing back there?’
‘I’m on my way.’ An explanation seemed irrelevant. ‘Just get him to the other side quickly.’
He heard the water thrash as they struck out and followed in their wake, swimming one-handed as fast as he could while carefully keeping the bundle of documents clear of the water. He made the far side as figures, lit by a torch, started to appear at the doorway. Cries from the guards increased in excitement as the splashing of Brann and his companions being helped from the water by strong arms from above told them how close their quarry was. A scrape of wood on stone was followed by a curse.
‘Sounds like they have discovered the rot in the wood,’ Brann said to Cannick as the man pulled him to the bank of the moat with an ease that belied his age, while Hakon and Breta could be heard helping the others. ‘Is all prepared?’ He received a nod. ‘The horses?’
‘It was too noticeable from the wall to have them waiting here. They’ll be on their way soon.’
‘They are not here?’ There was panic in Philippe’s voice, the alarm increasing as the splashes of men jumping into the water started to be heard in rapid and unceasing order. ‘It doesn’t matter how far we are from the nearest gate, if we are on foot they will ride us down with ease.’
Konall swept his wet hair from his face and reached to tie it behind his head, as he always did as a precursor to a fight. ‘He has a point, if a little dramatically expressed. And we are fairly outnumbered by those already on their way.’
A soldier started to drag himself from the moat, and Gerens casually swatted him with his sword, looking across the water as the baying of hounds could now be heard from the tunnel. ‘And then there is that development, too.’
Philippe grabbed Cannick by the arm. ‘So when will the horses come? When?’
Cannick gently disengaged his grip. ‘Just as soon as they see the fire.’
‘Fire?’ Philippe cast about wildly. ‘What fire?’
Cannick lifted a lamp that was shuttered to send light only towards the empty land outside the town, and smashed it onto a towering pile of dry, brittle branches loaded into the back of the cart, now empty of its barrels of oil. The dry wood flared up in seconds.
‘Ah,’ said Konall. ‘That fire.’
‘Not quite,’ Cannick said, as Breta and Hakon leapt forward to run the blazing cart at the moat and tip it headlong at the water. ‘This fire.’
Fire arose from the water as if by magic. Swimmers screamed as much in shock as agony, and the men at the doorway, lit by the spreading flames, shrank back against those behind. The light gave them vision at their own side of the moat as well, revealing two large barrels lying at the side of the water, their tops staved in and contents gone.
Gerens grinned with cold humour. ‘The oil.’
Brann nodded, remembering the trickle of oil in the rear yard of the inn the night before, when the idea had slipped into his head. He was glad it had worked; the still water of the moat letting the oil stay concentrated at that spot for the short time since it would have been poured there.
Two arrows flickered at the corner of his vision and thunked into the ground not far from Grakk.
The tribesman looked at him then raised his eyebrows. ‘Shall we move?’
‘In the gods’ names yes,’ Brann gasped, aghast at his complacency. The flames that kept men and beasts at the foot of the wall from following also made their little group perfect targets for archers at the top of it. In any case, he had no idea how long the fire on the water would last.
They had little to gather and less to entice them to delay, and were running into the darkness in seconds. As soon as they had stumbled beyond the range of an arrow, tripping and bumping each other in blindness, Konall stopped them.
‘Squeeze your eyes shut, and count to ten,’ he said. ‘Your eyes still want to see in the firelight. So remind them what dark looks like.’
When they opened their eyes, the way was clear to them, even with the moon behind clouds. Brann looked at him approvingly, and Konall shrugged.
‘Old hunting trick from where the winter nights would show you what real darkness is.’
They ran again, but this time faster.
Every thirty paces, Grakk gave a shrill whistle.
Sophaya moved alongside Brann. ‘If he is trying to attract those who bring the horses, would he not be better advised to use light?’
‘The source of light is easier to pinpoint over distance, such as from the town gates,’ Brann panted. ‘The direction of a sound is easier to find up close than from far away, so we give less away to our enemies pursuing than we do to our friends seeking us.’
She grunted, accepting his reasoning. He wondered, at first, at a girl of obvious intelligence not seeing this for herself, but remembered her background. When you spend your life, and make your living, in the confines of tightly packed buildings and narrow streets, the accepted wisdom is that light can be concealed by walls or even a cloak, but sound carries greater distances and around corners, and is the greater danger. Different circumstances, different lessons.
Brann’s breath was loud in his head, but the growing sound of hoof beats was louder. They stopped, and Grakk whistled again, giving final confirmation. Despite reason telling him that only their own companions could have reached them so quickly, still Brann’s heart quickened and his sword found its way into his hand as he watched the dark shapes gallop towards them.
Then