They made the long climb down with lighter hearts. A story above the neighboring room they found a window in the center of the hallway which faced in the right direction, broke out the few splinters of glass still set dagger-wise in the frame, and leaned out to reconnoiter.
“The rope will not be needed after all,” Arskane commented. “That drop is easy.” He took a strong grip on the window frame and flexed his muscles.
Fors crossed to the next window and set an arrow on his bow cord. But, as far as he could see, the roof below, the silent blank windows were empty of menace. Only-he could not cover all of those. And death might fly from any one of the hundreds of black holes, above, below—
But this was their best—maybe their only chance of escape. Arskane grunted with pain from his shoulder. Then he was out, tumbling down to the surface below. As quickly as he had taken the leap he dodged behind the high parapet.
For a long moment they both waited, frozen. Then, in a flash of brown and cream, Lura went through, making a more graceful landing. She sped across the roof, a streak of light fur.
So far—so good. Fors freed himself from quiver, Star Man’s pouch, and bow, tossing them through in the general direction of Arskane. Then he hoisted himself on the sill and swung. He heard Arskane’s shout of warning just as he let go. Startled, he could not prepare for a proper landing but fell hard—with a force which jarred him.
He squirmed over on his back. A dart quivered in the frame of the window where his hand had rested. He rolled into the safety of the parapet with a force which brought him up with a crack against Arskane’s knees.
“Where did that come from?”
“There!” The southerner pointed at the row of windows in the building across the street. “From one of those—”
“Let us go—”