A fist beat on the door, a voice shouted: "Open, in the name of the Holy Temple!"
"No way out," gasped the landlord.
"There is always an exit to these dens," snapped Freha. "Show us, or we split your skull."
A man's knife-hand moved with blurring speed. Alfric stopped the thrown dagger with his sword-blade in a clang of steel, caught it in midair, and hurled it back. The man screamed as it thunked into his belly.
"Out!" snarled the barbarian, and his glaive sang about the landlord's ears.
"Here," cried the little man, running toward the end of the room.
The door groaned as the guardsmen hurled themselves against it.
The landlord opened a concealed trapdoor. Only darkness was visible below. Alfric snatched a torch from the wall and saw a tunnel of dark stone. "Down!" he rapped, and Freha jumped. He followed, bolting the trap behind him. It was of heavy iron—the soldiers would have to work to break through it.
The tunnel stretched hollowly away on either side. Freha broke into a run and Alfric loped beside her, the torch streaming in one hand and the sword agleam in the other. Their footfalls echoed through the cold moist dark.
"What is this?" he asked.