Clandestine circle

He sighed. “I am well aware of that. Yet I find myself drawn to you. I hoped I could put you out of my mind during your absence…” His voice trailed off. His hand cupped her chin and gently tilted her face up to look at him. “Even in this reeking darkness, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “What is it about you I cannot resist?”

Usually so confident and self-assured, Linsha trembled. She tried to say something, but nothing even remotely coherent came to mind.

“Commander Durne! Lynn!” Morgan’s voice called above them. “Here comes a rope.”

The moment of privacy was gone. Linsha felt rather than saw Durne withdraw from her, and although disappointment cut her, she understood. He couldn’t reveal his feelings or even show favoritism for her in front of his guards and still remain an effective leader. She gave him a small smile, then scrambled to her feet to fetch the rope.

With the help of willing hands above and a strong rope, Commander Durne climbed up the sinkhole. Linsha managed to urge the Khur to his feet, tie the rope around his middle, and help him out of the hole as well. The dead man was left where he had fallen.

He wasn’t alone for long.

True to the needs of that disastrous week, workers soon set about filling the sinkhole with dead victims of the plague. When it could hold no more, the bodies would be covered with lime and buried under a mound.

Linsha was the last one out of the hole. She climbed out gratefully and withstood a bearish hug from the drunken Khur. She watched him walk unsteadily away. “Thank you, Morgan,” she said to the guard as he coiled up his rope.

“Good work, you two,” Lord Bight said, joining them. “Now, if the fires are out and everyone is finished playing in the hole, we must go.”

A crowd of people still hovered around, and they followed the governor and his guards as the group mounted the horses. Lord Bight was given Morgan’s horse, and Morgan and Linsha doubled up with other riders.

“Lord Bight,” someone called. “Would you open the city gates? We have friends and family behind the walls. Some of us have jobs. It’s too late now to stop the spread of the sickness in the inner city, so let us go in.”

Guild Master Vanduran joined the governor by his horse. “The City Council acted in what they thought was the city’s best interest,” he tried to explain.

Most of the people wouldn’t accept that. “They never asked us!” another man shouted.

“That’s right!” called a woman. “When they closed the gates and the fires started tonight, we thought you intended to burn the harbor district.”

The lord governor looked out over his citizens and raised his hand for silence. “I did not order the gates to be barred, and I never considered burning the sick house or any part of the city.” His voice took on the same hypnotic, reassuring tones he had used at the gathering on the south pier. “The closing of the gates was a misunderstanding between myself and the council. The fires were not of my doing, but I promise you I will investigate these rumors of arson. Do you believe me?”

A murmur of cautious satisfaction met his question.

Led by Lord Bight, the company rode forward slowly, so the trailing crowd of Sanction’s citizens could keep up with them. More people-men, women, kender, dwarves, elves, and a scattering of other races-joined the march through the hot, dark streets toward the city wall.

Torches were burning beside the huge double doors that stood closed and barred against the city’s own populace. City Guards paced the walls and watched nervously as the crowd approached. They didn’t recognize Lord Bight in the dim light until he raised his hand to stop the procession.

As soon as the riders and the whispering, expectant crowd halted behind him, he rode forward into the torchlight, accompanied by Commander Durne.

“Who dares bar the gates of this city against me?” he shouted.

Agitated voices called from the wall walk, and there was the sound of running footsteps.

Captain Dewald’s fair head appeared over the wall. “My lord! I did not know you were out there. I’m sorry. We were told to allow only Commander Durne and his men to reenter.” He snapped orders to someone below, and a postern gate was thrown open.

Lord Bight did not move. The crowd watched their governor hopefully.

“Captain, who ordered these gates to be locked?”

“Your Excellency, the City Council demanded that we lock the gates, and in your absence, we had to obey,” Dewald shouted.

“You did as you were required, but I am now countermanding that order. It is too late for such a measure to be effective. This city will have to stand or fall as a whole. Open the gates and leave them open.”

A heavyset figure robed in dark robes pushed his way through the postern and stood blocking the smaller gateway. It was Lutran Debone, the city elder. “My lord, is that wise?” he cried. “We have not yet had any outbreaks in the inner city. Why risk those people to certain exposure?”