The absent

Brakka closed the door of the reserve and leaned against it. Blood flowed from his forearm, but the wound did not seem deep.

"How many are left in the yard? Zaelyra asked.

"The two guards, me, before I go down. Rhylor is at the west gate. Kethra... I don't know."

"Did you see her?"

"She opened the cistern. Then, she left."

A rumble made the room tremble. Somewhere above, the west door wended.

Zaelyra walked towards the stairs.

Brakka blocked his way. "You brought out the ones you could."

"Rhylor is still here."

"And if you die looking for him, he will have held the door for nothing."

Zaelyra looked at the refugees. Pell carried one of the children on his back. Sszindi had sat against the wall. Tazri held the box of maps, his fingers clenched on the lid.

She had wanted to go alone, in the past, because a person could slip where a group did not pass. She now understood that the same logic could abandon someone on the other side.

"I'm not going alone."

Brakka swore. "That doesn't make the idea any better."

"How long before they reach the stairs? Zaelyra asked.

Brakka calculated in silence. "If the west door still holds, a few minutes. If she fell, they are already in the yard."

"How many people can you bring down through the passage?"

"All. Not fast."

"What if the mercenaries find the reserve?"

"They will find a closed door and people who don't want to be caught."

The answer did not contain any battle plan. Brakka did not pretend to protect the refugees; she told them what she could hold and what she could not guarantee.

Zaelyra turned to the families. "The passage is narrow. Those who can walk alone will go to the center. The injured between two adults. Children stay with the person they know best. If you don't want to leave, say it now."

No one answered right away.

A woman with curly hair asked: "Will you come back to pick us up if we stay?"

Zaelyra felt the promise rise to her lips. She stopped him.

"If the passage remains open, we will try. I can't promise you that we will succeed."

The woman looked at the door, then at her companion. "Then we go together."

It was the group's first decision that came neither from Zaelyra nor Brakka.

Nym stepped forward. "There is a second staircase from the alcove. He joins the parapet."

"Were you coming with us?"

"I come to check that you don't make a map with only one path."

Brakka put his axe back in hand. "I accompany you to the parapet. No further. Someone has to get the last ones out."

They went up the narrow steps. Through the killers, Zaelyra saw the courtyard below. A group of mercenaries had crossed the west door. They wore gray coats and armbands with no distinctive sign.

Rhylor held the passage in front of the well. He retreated slowly, a blade in each hand. Kethra was a few steps away from him, her arms raised to show that she was not armed.

"She delivered it," said Zaelyra.

"Or she tries to get him out," whispered Nym.

The leader of the mercenaries handed a leaf to Rhylor. "We want Dhal's plate and the girl. Tell me where to find them, and the rest of the relay can leave."

Rhylor did not move.

Kethra approached by one step. "This is not what we agreed."

The leader slapped her with the back of his hand. She fell against the wall.

Zaelyra made a move. Brakka held her back.

"Not yet," she said.

The leader raised two fingers. A crossbowman saw Rhylor. Zaelyra took out the copper plate and hit three times on the pipe that ran under the parapet, then once.

Rhylor's first answer did not come. She started again, stronger. The plate vibrated in his palm.

"What if he doesn't answer? Nym asked.

"Then we will still follow the exit from the east."

"It's not the same as joining him."

"I know."

Brakka put a hand on the pipe. She felt the vibration before hearing the blow: a short answer, then a long one.

"He got the signal," she said.

Brakka signaled Zaelyra to lower the plate. "Not a second call. If someone else hears it, he will know that there are two groups in the conduit."

"Can Rhylor believe that we heard his answer?"

"He knows you've been hit. He doesn't know who's near you."

Zaelyra wanted to hit again, but she put away the plate. She understood the rule; she did not accept the helplessness that accompanied her.

Nym traced the angle of the pipes on a piece of wood with charcoal. Two pipes converged towards the relay, but one had broken. Rhylor's signal had to go through the drain line.

"If we open the valve, the water will take away the sound," he says. "We can make it vibrate from the niche."

"What if the valve is blocked?"

"Then we'll know the pipe is clogged."

"Do you have an answer to everything? Zaelyra asked.

"No. I have experiences that fail in a predictable order."

They gently hit the drive. The vibration crossed the stone, but no answer came back. Zaelyra added a dotted line to the map, not a full line. It was perhaps the only way to call Rhylor without promising her that she would come.

Zaelyra didn't ask what the answer meant. She didn't need to do more than an agreement: the passage remained open, and Rhylor would do what he could.

Rhylor raised his head, as if he had understood that a path remained open. His first blade hit the lantern above the well. Darkness fell on the courtyard. The mercenaries shouted. Zaelyra rushed to the stairs.

Brakka followed her.

"I said I was staying at the parapet."

"And I changed my mind."