From somewhere below them a door slammed heavily and sandaled feet, several pairs of them judging from the sound, approached the base of that same flight of steps.
Without speaking Trakor and Dylara turned and, on tiptoe, raced in the opposite direction. As he ran, Trakor drew his knife in preparation for any enemy who might suddenly loom in their path.
A turn in the corridor brought them to a second flight of steps, down which they raced at full speed. Past landings at the third and second floors they fled, stopping at last in front of a closed door marking the main level of the palace.
"Wait!" Trakor breathed, placing a restraining hand on the girl's arm.
Silence seemed to press down upon them, a silence so complete they could hear the breath rustling in their nostrils.
With almost exaggerated care Trakor drew back the door. Moonlight streaming in at several stone-barred windows revealed a large hall, its walls hung with rich tapestries and a long wide table, lined with chairs, running almost its entire length.
Dylara, familiar with such scenes from her days in Sephar, said, "The palace dining hall." She pointed to an open doorway in the opposite wall. "That should lead to the kitchens. No one will be there at this time of night."
"Good!"
They crossed quickly to the designated opening, along a short narrow hall, through a second doorway and on into a low-ceilinged room whose furnishings bore mute testimony that Dylara's guess had been right.