The Stoneholding

narrow eye. Frysan's heart skipped a beat.

"Oh, nothing much -- just turned my ankle a bit when I jumped onto the wharf from the boat, that's all."

"Aye, it can be hard to find your footing in the dark. Those stones are slippery, awful slippery. A man can't be too careful, can he?"

"No, never too careful," echoed Frysan, stiffening at the double-sided remark, which had been delivered with a wry smile, almost a leer. The Captain was reputed to be the Mindal's spymaster, deeply involved in their scheming and intrigues. Ah well, there was no going back now. All he could do was grit his teeth and carry on, although suddenly he found the feel of the sheathed knife resting between his shoulders profoundly reassuring. He cast a glance upward, as they neared the shadow-draped face of the grey-stoned palace building, to where its turrets and chimneystacks stood lost in darkness.

At the postern gate they came to a halt, facing a massive oaken door with heavy steel hasps and rivets. Over the door, which stood flooded by light from two torches fixed in wrought-iron cressets, there curved a stone arch adorned with the royal coat of arms. Overhanging the arch was an embrasure that bulged out from the wall, its floor and each of its three sides having grated openings, which afforded the guards inside an unencumbered view of anyone who might approach the palace seeking entry. Baldrick pulled on a rope that dangled down from the embrasure. From within they heard the harsh clang of a bell, followed moments later by a ...