They glided through the dungeon together, the man and the mutant. Kesley walked on tiptoe, moving delicately as if he were walking on the fragile surface of a dream; at any moment he expected Dawnspear to vanish and the entire illusion to drift into nothingness.
But then he smelled fresh air instead of dungeon mustiness, and he knew he was free.
"The gate is open down there," Dawnspear said, pointing. "The guards are lost in slumber."
Together they crossed the palace grounds and passed through the gate. Kesley turned to the gaunt figure of the mutant to demand some explanation, but Dawnspear had released his hand and was pointing toward the distance.
"Within a minute they will all be awake. You will be missed. Flee now, while you have the chance."
"Wait a second! How did—why—?"
Kesley's whispers died away impotently. Dawnspear had slipped away silently into the night. "Dawnspear!" he called harshly. There was no reply.
There never are any answers when you call, Kesley thought sourly. He wheeled, looked back at the sleeping Palace. Lights were beginning to flicker on here and there; the mutant's influence had ended, and the sleepers were waking.
He was free to fly. Once again, he was his own master, bound to no one.
The guards stirred within the walls. He could imagine their dismay when they found him gone. Wrapping his cloak tightly around him, he edged off into the night.