"And my men?" insisted Hildaborg.
"Exile, with you."
Alfric pondered the proposal. If they could get free, with men at their back, they could always raise an army for a new attempt. But surely Therokos was aware of that. So if he had some trick—and it would be strange if he did not—
"How do we know you'll keep the bargain?" he asked coldly.
"You have the honor of the High Priest," answered Therokos loftily. Alfric sneered, and Therokos added: "Also, I assume you keep me prisoner until you are safe."
"It does not sound ill—" mused Hildaborg.
Nor did it to Alfric. But he shook his head, stubbornly. "I mistrust him. Moreover, a new war, after he had time to get ready, would take time and lives, and might fail. If tonight is indeed the night of destiny, we can still strike."
"With what?" jeered Therokos.
Alfric was not quite sure himself, but prodded the captive ungently onward. They came to another hinged rock, and Therokos opened that door for them. Alfric's spine crawled with the thought of what might lie beyond; he kept the dagger against Therokos' back as they stepped out.