'Who are you?'
In reply, Kosala slid his sword in the man's belly and sliced upwards. The man died without a sound, falling onto the steps.
'That's one less.' Kosala cleaned his sword on the dead man's turban.
They moved on, silent in the dark, upwards and ever upwards. Twice, they stopped when they heard movement above, and each time Bradan held his breath. He was a man of the open spaces, not a thief to work in such confinement. Then he thought of Melcorka, lying with a vacant smile on her face and the mind of a child. I must press on. I must do my best.
After an eternity of climbing, the stairs ended at a heavy wooden door, studded with iron. Kosala placed a hand on Bradan's shoulder to stop him, pushed the door gently and eased in.
'Who's that?' Bradan heard the question, followed
