Quitetly, Quiggly stepped into the darkness as he stealthily approached and steeled himself to protect them in whatever they faced. It was not a hard challenge for him; for every foe the band had previously met he was now a match in strength. The others, hearing him take his stance, moved back from the area of the doorway. His hands dropped to his hips, and he raised his arms from the position of guard. In the doorway he waited with an open mouth for any enemy that might appear. He was like an equable statue waiting for his life's fulfillment, when a single, muffled bellow was thrown out from the distant hallway. "That was Buster!" Pazel breathed, suddenly. "Let's make a race of it," said Neeps, breathless. "See who can get a crack on the head first." They took the hall at a sprint. After ten paces they slowed. The passage was silent. The lights still burned. The doors and lockers stood open. Still Pazel held his place at the corridor's end. Neeps, on Pazel's left, stayed close to him. "Soldiers?" whispered Thasha. "We will find out soon enough," said Pazel. "If it's soldiers, we get ready to run again." In the hall's center they stood ready, looking left and right. "Stay alert," said Ramachni. "I think they're coming," said Pazel. The seconds crawled. Finally he could hold his peace no longer. "I've got something," he said, and darted off. He returned a few seconds later with a ring of keys. "And maybe one of these will work in the door ahead of us." They stared at him, amazed. Ramachni, too, was impressed. "What now, Pazel?" he whispered. "We have to check the passage, to be sure," said Pazel. "And then see if we can't find a way out of here." "Where to, though?" said Neeps. "If we just wander, the soldiers will find us. Or the murth-men, or the grimbles, or the mizzra . . ." "Yes," said Ramachni. "But if we remain here and wait for the soldiers, the murth-men will find us first." "And then the Mzithrini, and the Orca, and the Nelu-Vayir, and the Ipjag-Dzirma, and probably every other race in the world," said Pazel, "and each one will have better tools for breaking us than this." Pazel was feeling something he had not felt since his arrival in Tholjassa: he was going to become an outlaw, or die trying to outrun one. That other feeling he was not about to ignore now. "If we try to make it down the passage," he said, "I'm hoping to find a way out that won't let us be seen. Either that, or the enemy won't see us, for exactly the same reason. Come on!" He set off again, and they followed. He was right; the passage ended a few moments later at the same door they had glimpsed that afternoon, the door to the barracks. But the key in his hand turned no bolt. Thasha began to cry. "We're trapped! We're going to die!" "Maybe that's not as terrible as being eaten alive by whatever-they-are," said Neeps. "No," said Pazel. "But it's bad enough." "It's not so bad!" Pazel said. "We know the Mzithrinis are with us." "Do you know they're with you?" Thasha said. "What do you know about them, Pazel?" "I know they're not murth-beasts. And that makes them enemies of the murth-men, and the Mzithrinis, and the whole Nelu tribe." "That's not much of a vote of confidence, given what they did to you." Pazel looked at her curiously. "You know what happened? That's not what I thought." "I saw it," said Thasha. "But listen: the _Chathrand_ 's first mate didn't see it. He called you a murth-monkey, and a filthy Igeni freak. They beat you and left you naked on deck." Pazel bowed his head. He had taken too many knocks for too many different reasons that day. "All I know is that when we met in the darkness of _Chathrand_ 's brig, the first thing I said was 'I didn't mean to do it.' They knew, they understood. And just like that, they gave me the tools I needed to free myself. The tools of self-respect, and self-respecting action." He lifted his face, his eyes clear. "So there's a good chance we're going to live through this. And that I will be just fine." He could not tell whether Thasha was impressed or disappointed. "And we're going to survive them," he said. "I can promise you that. But they have ships and soldiers, and you've probably seen enough of them to know that they are just as capable of harming us as we are of harming them." At last Thasha seemed satisfied with this answer, or at least resigned. "I wonder if there is some connection between them and Mzithrini magic," said Ramachni. "I doubt there's anything connecting them," said Pazel. "But . . ." "But?" "But I bet they have the same sort of problems on their side that our people are having. A lack of priests, and the priests who do claim authority can't do very much. Maybe that's why the men with swords get away with so much." "Or it could be Mzithrini pride," said Thasha. "They want to prove they are the best-looking people in the world, and the most interesting, too." Pazel looked at her with admiration, and then with shame. She was right, of course, but he had not realized how much he needed to hear the accusation himself. "Let's be very clear," he said. "If we can help one side win, it'll be the Mzithrinis." "Not the murth-men, not the Ipjag-Dzirma," said Thasha, a sudden flash of outrage in her eyes. "Don't forget about the others. They don't matter as much as we think they do, but it would be bad, wouldn't it, if they won their war? Because that's the one we have to win for ourselves. Now and forever. And forever's a long time, Pazel. I don't think you realize what's at stake." "I realize," said Pazel. "What do you think our future will be, if the _Chathrand_ falls?" "If we can hold out, I think the future will be better than you can even imagine." "But the whole war's coming down to you and me," said Thasha, "and that's what I mean. We could become murderers. We could—" "Shut up, Thasha," said Pazel. "Don't." "Why did you come after us?" Pazel raised his hands helplessly. "Because they were killing us, you and your brothers. Because I wouldn't have any other choice." "What you said earlier was right, Neeps and I were the murderers. But right now I'll take _them_ over your enemies, I tell you." Thasha was clearly desperate, but Pazel was not through with her. He raised his hand. "You want a war?" he asked her. "I've been waiting for you a long time to have one. A war over something we both want. Or need. Or both." "What are you going to do? Fight them all by yourself?" "You're coming with me." She stared at him, her lip trembling. "Is that what you've decided?" "That's what I'm trying to decide right now. What do you think? Should we try to find another way to talk with them?" She thought for a moment. "All right. Whatever you think." "We'll try it your way first." He turned to the others. "I'll go first. The rest of you come after. No running. Not yet. We have to reach that courtyard, see the soldiers, but not before we know the situation with the other group." "What if it's a trap?" Neeps said. "It won't be," said Pazel. "I know a bit of their language, and Thasha knows the rest. We can make our own way back. And even if it wasn't planned, it wouldn't stop us." No one had the heart to argue.