The wall was packed with soldiers, and his attention would be diverted. Now was their time to pass him. Robin looked at Ian. He was clearly thinking the same thing.
Robin stepped forward first, moving through the crowded soldiers with the same purposeful stride she had learned from Ian. She leaned heavily to her left, bumping into men as she walked but wanting to avoid the long fall to the courtyard on her right.
Ian fell into step behind her, taking advantage of the crowd to press his body into hers, keeping them together.
Robin kept her focus on the left tower door ahead. Zimri had walked through it and left it open behind him. His stocky frame was now several paces beyond it, moving toward the center of the gate wall where he would have the best vantage to address the newcomers below.
Pushing past several more soldiers, Robin reached the door leading into the small tower. She ducked through it without slowing.
The left tower was small and dim—barely large enough for four men to stand in. Arrow slits lined the outer wall, letting in thin blades of light. A wooden door on the far side opened onto the continuation of the walkway above the gate itself. Through that door, Robin could see the backs of several soldiers lined along the battlement and, beyond them, the bright green of the hill.
She could also see Zimri.
He stood at the center of the wall, leaning over the battlement with both hands gripping the stone. His attention was entirely on Sol and the Majis below.
About ten paces beyond Zimri, the door to the right tower was closed.
Robin pressed herself against the inner wall of the left tower, pulling Ian in beside her. The tower was dark enough that they would be difficult to see from the bright walkway outside.
“How many men in the gatehouse?” Robin asked.
“It should be just the two that are needed to operate it,” Ian replied.
Robin nodded. Through the open door, she watched Zimri lean further over the battlement. He said nothing, so Robin assumed he was waiting for Sol to speak first.
“Open the gate,” Sol’s voice finally sounded from below.
“The gates do not open for a traitor to the kingdom,” Zimri replied. Gareth must have told him what Sol and Meena had done in Falqri. “Archers, to the ready!” Zimri shouted, his voice carrying along the wall.
Robin did not have to look to Ian to know that he would follow her the second she moved. Zimri, and every man around him, was focused on the grass below.
Robin slipped out of the tower door, squinting in the sudden sunlight, and onto the walkway above the gate.
“Leave now,” Zimri yelled down at Sol, “or I shall fire.”
Robin’s heart pounded. She walked confidently across the battlement, in full view of the soldiers below, hoping that her confident stride and the commotion outside would hide her in plain sight.
“I am here to speak with Frederich, King of Iseldis,” Sol said. “Open the gate!”
“Open the gate!” That was Mistress Cedrice. Her chant was echoed by the crowd.
Robin reached the gatehouse door. She reached down, twisted the iron handle, and pushed.
“Fire!” Zimri ordered.
Robin flinched as bowstrings twanged behind her. She could hear arrows thudding into the wooden shields below, but no one screamed. That was good.
“Stand back, witless woman!” Zimri yelled. Robin smiled as she stepped into the gatehouse. It sounded like Mistress Cedrice was making herself quite the nuisance.
Two men stood inside, peering through the arrow slits in the wall at the commotion below. One of them turned as the open door flooded the room with light.
But Robin was on top of him before he had a chance to react. She wrapped her good arm around his neck, under his helmet. He struggled against her for a few moments and then went limp in her arms, unconscious.
Ian, after following her into the room and closing the door behind him, did the same to the other guard.
The gatehouse was short and narrow. The air smelled of iron and old grease. At the center, a massive wooden contraption was bolted to the floor—a stripped tree trunk lying horizontal, with heavy iron chains hanging from hooks in the ceiling and wrapping around it. Counterweights dangled from the chains on either side. On each end of the trunk, two large cog wheels were attached to facilitate turning.
“Help me with this.” Ian was dragging the body of one of the unconscious men to the foot of the closed door. Robin grabbed the man’s other arm and helped drop him into place. The makeshift lock would only buy them a couple of seconds, but hopefully it would be all they needed.
