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hurry.”
    “You just butchered three men. Were their lives of no consequence?” She gripped her fallen hood with one hand, as if she’d forgotten what she meant to do with it.
    “They were your enemies. Now pull up that hood. We must go.”
    Wynne stepped forward, setting an arm about Alwenna’s shoulders. “Come, my lady. Weaver knows what he’s about. Right now we must put your safety first.” She whispered something in a low voice that Weaver couldn’t hear. Whatever it was, it had the desired effect.
    The younger woman drew up her hood. “Of course, you are both right. We must go.” Her voice might have lacked conviction, but she stepped alongside Weaver, and when he took hold of her arm to guide her she didn’t shake off his grip.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Alwenna soon lost her sense of direction as Weaver led them through side streets and alleyways. She wanted to break away from him, run in the opposite direction and keep running until she reached the safety of the keep. What if another faction had already offered him more than Stanton? “Why are we going uphill? You’re taking us further and further from the main gate.”
    “We’re using a gate no one will be watching, my lady.”
    They emerged from another narrow alley into an open space where she could hear running water. The moonlight revealed the washing green at the foot of the citadel walls, fed by the spring for which Highkell was named. They kept to the shadows of the buildings alongside the green, stopping at the base of the city wall. There Weaver unfastened his cloak and lifted a bundle from his shoulder.
    “What are you doing?”
    “This is the key to our gate.” The bundle was a coil of rope which he looped over one arm before refastening his cloak. He began to unwind one end of the rope.
    “I don’t see how this will help.”
    Weaver leaned forward to pass the rope about her waist, and the copper tang of blood mingled with sweat and wet wool enveloped her. He knotted the rope, adjusting it so it was a snug fit. “I’ll lower you down first.” Weaver secured the rope about his own waist, leaving several yards between them which he carried in a loose coil. “Then Wynne. I’ll follow behind.”
    The citadel tower rose sheer above one side of the green while the curving city wall closed off the other. Buildings enclosed the space between them. “Down where? We’re hemmed in here.”
    “This way.” He led them across the washing green, alongside the curtain wall, and stepped down into the stream, pushing aside a clump of willow stems. There was an opening at the base of the wall, no more than shoulder height, through which the stream flowed. The opening was impossibly small, impossibly dark.
    Alwenna froze. “You expect me to go in there?”
    “The water’s not deep.” Weaver held out his hand to assist her.
    She remained where she was. “I can’t.”
    “Of course you can.” He reached up and caught hold of her hand. “I’ve got you. Nothing can go wrong.”
    “No.” She snatched her hand away but the bank crumbled beneath her foot and she slithered down, landing with a jolt against Weaver in the knee-deep water. The current tugged at her skirts. Weaver held the willow stems back so she could squeeze past.
    “I can’t. I mean it.” She planted her feet, bracing one arm against the wall. “It’s too narrow.” Even the thought of stepping inside that constricted space was enough to make the breath fail in her lungs. The pounding of her blood filled her ears. She couldn’t do it. She was dimly aware of Wynne’s voice.
    “Is there no other way? My lady can’t bear small spaces.”
    “What? No.” Weaver sounded exasperated. “It’s only a short distance.”
    Alwenna drew in a deep breath, trying to calm herself, to ease the trembling that had overcome her limbs. She could master her fear. She had to. She set her hand on the inner wall of the culvert. The stone was clammy, covered in slimy growth from the lack of light.