Free Rise of a Hero (The Farsala Trilogy) by Hilari Bell Page A

Jiaan frowned. They hadn’t entered a building—he could feel the breeze—but he also sensed some sort of enclosure. How was that—
    “Here’s the ladder, sir. Hold on here, and feel down with your foot.”
    Both the uprights and rungs of the ladder were made of iron, cold and rough. The draft that blew up past him was filled with the sound and scent of water. Not an escape passage, an aqueduct like they had in Setesafon, doubtless bringing water from the Sistan River. But how could such a thing be kept secret from anyone? The townsfolk must know where the water came from. Setesafon had bragged of its sewer system, but Jiaan had heard only of Mazad’s deep wells.
    He counted sixty steps down before his groping toe found a flat surface beneath it. He stepped onto the floor and moved to one side to let his guide descend, though he kept a good grip on the upright pole. He didn’t think this was just a ledge, surrounded by an even greater drop, but if he was wrong he didn’t want to find out the hard way. The sound of water wasn’t loud, but Jiaan had a feeling that a lot of it was running very near.
    “Right then,” said his guide. “You can be letting go, sir; we’re down. But keep your right hand to the wall. It’s a bit narrow.”
    A walkway, then, following the watercourse. At least here the guide couldn’t lead him in circles. They walked straight ahead, the slight uphill slopeyet another confirmation of Jiaan’s surmise. What was the point of the blindfold, when all this could be deduced so easily? Jiaan hoped the entrance was well hidden.
    They traveled for what felt like a long distance before the guide stopped. “Last ladder. You’re almost there.” Was there a note of approval in his voice? Jiaan had almost become accustomed to not seeing his face.
    The trip up the ladder was shorter, only forty-three rungs. This time the guide went first, telling Jiaan to wait when they reached the top. Jiaan heard the mechanism grate and squeal—louder than the first. The warm air that wafted down smelled of dust, and of the small, leafy trees that dotted the hills around Mazad.
    Jiaan heard the guide start to climb again and needed no urging to follow him out, half crawling over a stone lip and onto the rocky, grassy soil. The sun was warm on his hair and shoulders, but when he reached for the blindfold, a hard hand gripped his wrist. “Not yet! Sir.”
    “All right.” Jiaan took the guide’s arm again, but he wanted to be done with this—to see, djinn take them!
    Perhaps it was only his impatience, but it seemed as if the guide led him in circles even longer this time, and the rocky, root-strewn ground was rough going. He heard no sounds of battle, not even in the distance, though the Hrum must have reached the city by now. Was that smoke he smelled? Finally the guide came to a halt.
    “You’ve done well, sir. Put out your hands.”
    The rustling leaves had already told Jiaan he faced a tree. He reached out and touched rough bark.
    “Good. About two feet above your hands is a hollow. That’s where you can leave a message, if you’re wanting to contact Commander Siddas. Don’t—”
    “Don’t wait to see who picks it up, I know.” Jiaan was beginning to be impatient with Siddas’ security precautions. On the other hand, he couldn’t have found his way back to the aqueduct hatch he’d just emerged from, nor could he have described the entrance to it in the city, except for a guess that it was somewhere near the north or west wall. Perhaps Siddas’ precautions weren’t as inadequate as they’d seemed.
    “Right then.” Definite amusement in the man’s voice now. “I’ll ask you to wait for a slow count of thirty before you take off the blindfold. Then find the hollow, and make sure that you can find this place again. Once you’ve done that, go south. Your horses aren’t far.”
    “Thank you,” said Jiaan.
    “Thank you for behaving yourself. I’d have hated to . . . Well, never mind