Corun paced unhappily. "I don't trust Shorzon," he admitted. "I trust him as I would a mad pherax. And anything Tsathu plans is—evil." He glared down the cavernous mouth of the ramp. "If I could only hear what they say!"
"What chance of that? We're under guard, you know."
"Aye, so. But—" Struck with a sudden thought, Corun went over to the window. The rain had ceased outside, but a solid wall of fog and night barred vision. It was breathlessly hot, and he heard the low muttering of thunder in the hidden sky.
There were vines growing on the wall, tendrils as thick as a man's leg. The broad leaves hung down over the sill, wet with rain and fog. "I remember the layout of the castle," he said slowly. "It's a warren of tunnels and corridors, but I could find my way to the feasting hall."
"If they caught you, it would be death," said Imazu uneasily.
Corun's grin was bleak. "It will most likely be death anyway," he said. "I think I'll try."
"I'm not as spry as I once was, but—"
"No, no, Imazu, you had best wait here. Then if anyone comes prying and sees you, he'll think we're both here—maybe."
Corun slipped off tunic and sandals, leaving only his kilt. He hung his sword across his back, put a knife in his belt, and turned toward the window.