Free The City by Stella Gemmell Page A

done before the storm came. The tunnel was unfamiliar to Bartellus, but the girl seemed to know where they were. He was amazed she still had the strength to walk when he felt his legs would give out at any moment. He watched obsessively the torch he had taken from the Hall of Watchers. When it failed they would probably die.
    He was considering calling a short halt when they heard voices and stopped. Coming towards them out of the murk were four people with one torch. They stopped abruptly when they saw Bartellus and the girl.
    The leader, a small elderly man with a grey beard, had fear and suspicion etched across his face as he approached them. He moved crabwise, as if ready to run at the least threat. ‘Where you going?’ he asked roughly, peering up at Bartellus short-sightedly.
    Bartellus wondered that an old man without weapons and a small girl could concern them so. Then he realized all four were elderly, that some carried injuries, and all looked battered by the storm. They no doubt feared reivers, or anyone who was stronger than them. An unfamiliar bubble of amusement welled up inside him. He felt as weak as a sick mouse. Yet these poor people were afraid of him.
    He held out empty hands and told them, ‘We are survivors of the storm. We are seeking our way back to the Hall of Blue Light.’
    ‘We are all survivors of the storm,’ grunted the man sourly. ‘We would not be here if we were not.’ He spat on the ground, making his point.
    Bartellus asked, ‘Can you tell us if we are near our destination?’
    ‘I do not know your Hall of Blue Light. Is it beyond the Eating Gate?’
    Bartellus glanced at the girl, who nodded with confidence.
    ‘Then you are Farsiders. We do not go beyond the gate. It is too perilous. The patrols come from there. And the storms.’
    ‘Where are you going?’ Bartellus asked him.
    The man peered at him suspiciously. ‘Why would you want to know?’
    Bartellus shrugged. ‘Perhaps you are travelling to a place of safety. Perhaps we could come with you.’
    ‘Perhaps it would not be a place of safety if we prattled about it to any stranger who asked,’ the man said, glaring at them sideways.
    The other three started to shuffle along nervously, eyes down. The old man shook his head. ‘We want nothing of you Farsiders. You bring only trouble. Leave us alone!’
    He scuttled off and the four returned to the gloom. Bart looked down at the girl and shrugged. She pointed the way they had been going, and they moved along.
    Once they detected the sound of the Eating Gate they knew they had reached known territory. Relieved, sure now that their torch would last the journey, Bartellus gave them another short rest. Sitting with his back against a dry wall, his eyes closed, he wondered again about the long and meandering path they had travelled. He could never find his way back to the Hall of Watchers. Although he thought the child might be able to. He was certain now, had been sure for some time, that they had not been swept helplessly into that stone chamber where he had met the warrior Indaro. They had been rescued from the stormwater and carried to safety. But for what purpose? His conversation with Archange had revealed nothing, at least to him. But he was sure she knew who he was. He was too tired to concentrate on the problem. Instead his mind idled back over the events of the last day.
    Remembering suddenly, he delved in the pouch at his side and from the bottom brought out the piece of cloth he had snatched from the neck of the corpse. It was half dried, damp and wadded into a solid lump. Carefully he teased and stretched it out, as the little girl watched, her dark eyes serious.
    He had thought it a kerchief or a scarf, but it was neither. It was a circle made from fine gauze, delicately embroidered at the edges with thread which had once been coloured. There were two tiny pieces of metal attached to it. He took one in his stubby tortured fingers and peered at it, moving closer to