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Weasel returned Tandor’s pack. And every night, after the jailor had retired for the evening, he came in to eat with the two prisoners.
Al doubted Weasel would have the strength to escape, since his food allowance was so meager. When Al asked him if he’d found a way out, Weasel’s answer was always the same: “I still be searchin’.” Al was growing impatient.
Finally, on the fourth day, Weasel opened the door to their cell. Standing in the doorway holding their weapons, he announced, “We go now.”
He led them down a side passage to a crudely cut staircase that descended to a storage area filled with jars, crates, and sacks. Behind some mouldering boxes, the passage opened to a long, narrow pool of water. Weasel skirted the water and disappeared into the shadows on the far side. When Al followed him, he found a natural passage with undressed stone and pockets of cooled lava flow. Holding his lantern high, Weasel walked down the passage. Chalk marks appeared on the stone at intervals, particularly where side passages opened. “Every trip I made had a different mark. Bein’ careful to follow the last marks.”
They descended even lower and the temperature increased. Finally, Al felt the faint hint of a draft. Ahead of them, at the edge of the lantern light, the passage sloped upwards. But there was no sign of daylight.
“This be the way,” said Weasel, and climbed up the narrow passage.
The opening was too narrow for Tandor to carry his pack on his back. He took out a length of rope and tied one end around his waist. Holding the other end, Al waited with the pack. Twice the rope caught, and Tandor had to delay his ascent to loosen it. Finally, the rope stopped paying out, and Tandor’s voice came down the tunnel. “I’m ready to haul up the pack.”
Al tied the rope to the pack, stuffed the excess line inside, gave a tug, and watched as the pack was dragged up the channel. On hands and knees, he followed it. In a few minutes Al emerged into the night air. He got a whiff of sulfur dioxide. Behind him, he saw the eerie lights on the wall of the fortress and in the lower windows of the central tower. Suddenly, a bright yellow light appeared in the upper most windows of the tall keep. A long mournful horn sounded.
“We hurry now,” said Weasel, fear edging his voice. “Zambor be finished. He be sending for prisoners soon. The hounds be after us. We best be far away if we be wanting to live.”