Authors Note: Sorry for the delay. Reviews always welcome!
Welcome to Kirkwall
Chapter 9: By Order of the Warden-Commander and the Knight-Commander's Orders
When Lyra finally opened her eyes the next morning the sun was already high in the sky and shining brightly through her open window. She couldn't help but feel vaguely disappointed. After the revelations of the previous day, she had been sure that her dreams would have been clearer, perhaps hinting at some sort of direction. But instead, they shed no more light on her mission, if such it could be called, than before. Tamlen still haunted her dreams, as did the mirror, and there was one particularly strange dream in which Trouble had turned into a giant chicken and was chasing her around the Denerim alienage. Perhaps it was symbolic, she thought bemusedly as she pulled Anders' oversized tunic over her head, wincing slightly at the sharp pain in her shoulder as she did so. The bottle of healing potion Anders had given her was on the stand next to the basin and she swallowed a mouth full hastily before she forgot again. She hated to do it, it felt like cheating, but mages orders. She then slipped into a pair of light leather breeches and tucked in the tails of the shirt. She had to roll up the sleeves a bit to keep her hands free but it would do until she could get her armor repaired.
She studied the effect in the mirror over the basin as she ran a comb through her long unruly hair. Not bad, really. A part of her missed the familiar weight of the thick leather strapping that had become like a second skin to her over the years, yet at the same time it was incredibly freeing not to be wearing it, like she was just a regular girl going about her day. Perhaps she would take Trouble for a hike along the coast today, watch him chase the ravens off the corpses that seemed to littler the road and get himself into gods knew what kind of mischief. That's what normal people did, wasn't it? People who didn't have the responsibility of saving the world every five seconds. She had just decided that she needed more carefree day like that when she reached the bottom of the stairs into the pub and suddenly missed her armor very, VERY much.
Three Templars stood near the door, scanning the room as if looking for someone. There were always a few Templars in the Hanged Man, mostly off duty recruits looking for a good time, but these were definitely not recruits. Their armor positively gleamed with a self-righteousness it must have taken years to polish up. Corff was at his usual station behind the bar and when he caught her eye he cast a very significant glance towards the Templars. Lyra nodded imperceptibly and eased her way over to the bar and sat down. But it was too late. The tallest of the three had spotted her and was leaning down to his comrade, the only woman in the group, and whispered in her ear. Her eyes came to rest on Lyra, as did the other mans, and the three started over towards the bar. When they were still a few tables away, Lyra noticed Corff surreptitiously reaching under the bar to where she knew he kept his 'barman's friend'; also known as 'a bloody great club'. She shook her head and he leaned back, his eyes flitting back and forth between her and the approaching Templars, eyeing them warily.
The woman waited until she was standing beside Lyra before speaking. The shorter of the two men had positioned himself between her hand the doorway, presumably to thwart any escape attempt, while the tall one stood behind her and a little to the left. She now recognized him as one of the men she had threatened in Anders' clinic the previous day. Well, that explained how they knew who they were looking for.
"Lyra Mahariel," the woman said, bringing Lyra's attention back to focus. It wasn't a question, more of a statement of fact. Lyra wondered idly if she had drawn the short straw or if they thought having a woman do the talking would be less likely to result in the threats of the previous day. The hilt of one of her daggers pressed reassuringly against her side as she turned to face the woman and she was suddenly very grateful that she had not neglected to strap on the blades before heading downstairs. Though drawing from the hip seemed more ungainly than her usual manner of sheathing the daggers on her back, there was some comfort in at least having weapons even if she was without armor. The old Haren always used to say that the best armor was to not get hit. It seemed she would be relying on those words today.
"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, though I would guess by your companions, that is, in fact, the point," she said at last, eyeing the two men whose hands hovered over their swords, ready to draw and fight at a moments notice.
"My name is not important," the woman said with an air of haughty indignance. Lyra was wondering if Templars were given special training on how to look down their noses at people or if there were specifically chosen for the ability.
Lyra smiled broadly at the other woman. "Oh, come now. You give yourself far too little credit."
The woman pretended not to hear. "You will come with us." Again, it was not a question but a statement of how things would be.
"Will I, now?" Lyra said, still smiling. She slipped off her bar stool and heard a metallic scraping as both men partially drew their swords. "Am I to assume I am under arrest? Seeing as how I am neither Apostate nor abomination I don't believe you have the authority to even attempt such an act."
The woman pulled herself up to her full height. She was taller than Lyra, but not by much. "We have the authority of Knight-Commander Meredith herself."
"Oh, goody for you. But that does not answer my question. Come now, we're all friends here right? I wouldn't want things to become unpleasant." A quick glance at Corff told her that he had indeed retrieved his barman's friend. Several of the patrons had been taking an intense interest in the conversation at the bar, and now, taking their cue from Corff, a few of them were already on their feet. As it was still fairly early, the inn was not yet full, but even so, the Templars were vastly outnumbered, and they were beginning to realize it. In the sudden silence, Lyra thought she heard Trouble growling low and menacing from some hidden corner of the room.
The two men had suddenly become fully aware of their situation and that any show of force would not only result in their bodily removal from the premises by an angry mob, but no Templar would ever again be allowed to set foot inside the pub. Lyra guessed it was the second prospect that was more troublesome for the men and they let their swords fall noisily back into their sheathes. Until then, the woman's attention had been so focused on Lyra that she had not noticed the current situation. Now seeing what they were up against, she sighed heavily. "No," she grunted resentfully. "The Knight-Commander asked to speak with you privately. Our orders were to escort you to the Gallows."
"Oh good," Lyra said brightly. "I've been meaning to head up there one of these days, but I was afraid I'd get lost." She nodded to the bartender then started for the door. "Shall we?" she called over her shoulder at the Templars who, confused by her sudden compliance, took a moment to collect themselves then chased after her. It was blatantly obvious through the entire exchange that she had been the one in control of the situation. Three Templars against one elf girl, and the elf would always win.
Trouble had emerged from his hiding place and trotted along at her heals as the group made their way towards the Gallows, occasionally showing Lyra's escorts his teeth so as to remind them of their place. She could feel their eyes upon her as they walked, studying her, as if she were a mystery to unravel. Well, she got that a lot, she reasoned. It wasn't that she tried to be mysterious. The truth was she didn't really care what people thought of her. Having to live inside her own head was bad enough, no need to try to get inside other peoples heads as well. In all honesty, she didn't think any of them would be worth the effort.
They passed through a massive stone archway that was the entrance to the Gallows. She knew slaves had built it. Men and women forced to build the very fortress that would imprison them. Far above, she could see the giant spikes that would anchor the wrought iron gate when it was lowered to block passage. She envisioned the heavy gate slamming down on hapless victims trapped beneath it and shuddered, quickening her pace, eager to be through the archway. But she couldn't help wondering how much blood stained those spikes. She had heard of what had happened here when the Blight first threatened Ferelden, how thousands of refugees had been trapped here, denied access to the city for fear of overcrowding. Hawke had been one of them.
The stone pillars surrounding the central courtyard were adorned with human figures in an affectation of horrific despair, and she could only imagine what it must have felt like. To be fleeing death, destruction, and the end of the world, only to land in a place so hostile and formidable that the fear of death seemed mere illusion in comparison. Lyra was sure many must have thought it would have been better to die as a Ferelden than to live here as a refugee.
She shook her head, as if to rid her mind of such dismal thoughts, and tried to focus on something else. An armorer had set up a stand near the entrance to the Gallows and she made a mental note to have a look at his wares before leaving. If she was ever allowed to leave. This place was definitely constructed with the sole purpose of restricting peoples movements and she could feel the hopelessness seeping into her bones, as though she were already a prisoner here. Broad stone steps lead up to another set of gates, presumably the entrance to the Circle itself. She had a hard time maintaining her confident air as she was led up the steps towards a doorway set into the rock. Of course they wouldn't open the main gate for a single visitor. That was reserved for herding in vast numbers of slaves.
"Damn this place," she muttered, her expression darkening. Trouble whined softly a few paces behind her.
"What was that?" the female Templar asked. She suddenly realized that no one had said a word since leaving the Hanged Man and she wondered if they had been given orders not to speak to her, or if the prevalent foreboding of the fortress where so many had been enslaved was affecting them as well. The very stones seemed to cry out in despair.
"I said, 'Man what a place,'" she lied. "You hardly need any guards at all with all these gates barring your way."
The woman grunted as a Templar who was standing guard over the door nodded to her, allowing them passage. "Your dog will remain here, along with any weapons you may be carrying," she said, eyeing the blades strapped to Lyra's hips.
"The dog goes where he wills," Lyra said, smiling faintly, then her expression hardened. "And the blades stay with me."
"I must insist that the dog-"
"Have it your way then," Lyra said in exasperation. "Trouble, stay!" she commanded. The mabari snuffed loudly and shook his massive head. Lyra turned back to the woman. "He says no."
"You do not want to make an issue of this Warden. There is no one to back you here." Lyra could see the other Templars in the small holding area, every one on their feet, tense. It was the Hanged Man all over again, only this time, the odds were not in her favor.
"That's Warden-Commander, if you please. And yes, I believe I do want to make an issue of it."
The two women now stood toe to toe, their faces inches apart, glaring at each other. "Do not test me..." the Templar snarled.
"That will do, Ser Audrey," a voice interrupted, and the Templar immediately backed off. A tall man with close cropped blonde hair had entered the room and all Templars present had snapped to attention at the sight of him. There was something very familiar about him, but Lyra couldn't quite place him. "I will take the Warden-Commander AND her mabari to see the Knight-Commander. Go see to your duties."
"Yes, Knight-Captain." Ser Audrey snapped a quick salute and exited the room, followed by the two Templars who had accompanied her.
"If you will come with me, my lady?" The Knight-Captain opened the door to the inner courtyard and waited for her to pass through it, bowing slightly. Such deference from a Templar took her by surprise. She guessed the Knight-Captain knew her but she could not think of where they had met. Certainly not in Kirkwall. Perhaps somewhere in Ferelden?
They entered a smaller courtyard and her escort led her up a set of stairs along one wall and through another doorway that led into a long hallway. The Captain did not speak but she could feel his eyes upon her. "I remember you, you know," he said at last.
"Oh?" he said, in mock surprise. "Did I threaten you in some way? If so, I'm sure I had legitimate cause, though I do apologize none the less."
He said nothing for a minute, then, "You spoke out against me when I tried to convince the Knight-Commander to perform the Right of Annulment on the Circle Tower in Ferelden."
Lyra stopped, could it be? "Cullen?" she said, now genuinely surprised. "Yes it is you, isn't it?" Cullen stopped, turning to face her and she moved a few steps closer. "I see you survived your ordeal, and found your way to Kirkwall, where all your desires for the mages can be realized. Moving up in the world too, I see." she said, nodding to his Captains insignia. "I take it your ideals are appreciated here, Knight-Captain?" She found herself slightly disgusted at the fact that attempting to murder over a hundred people could be an act to be lauded. It was ridiculous.
"It's not like that," Cullen said hurriedly as they set off again, Lyra studiously refusing to even look at him.
"Isn't it?" she said, waving a hand. Her expression hardened visibly. "I seem to recall you fighting quite vehemently for Knight-Commander Greagoir to approve the self same actions that are carried out here on a daily basis."
"Can you blame me? After what they did?"
She whirled on Cullen, backing him against the wall. "Yet you can blame them, after what you've done. You deny them the simplest freedoms and yet you are surprised when they turn on you. Your arrogance astounds me, Templar." She spat the last word like a curse. Perhaps it was due to the fact that she had known so many mages, Circle mages and apostates alike, that her tone carried such vehemence. Or perhaps it was simpler than that. Maybe she just hated the idea of ANY group of people being subjugated by another. Trouble seemed to take a similar stance and was growling at Cullen, his ears pinned back, hackles raised.
He raised his hands as if to ward off the tirade. Then sighed heavily. "I came here to try to make things better. To help," he tried to explain, but Lyra was still livid.
"You want to help?" she demanded, stabbing a finger into his chest. "Then tell me about Meredith."
Cullen seemed to stiffen, lowering his hands and staring at the opposite wall. "I can not speak ill of my commander."
She paused, watching him thoughtfully. "But you can't speak well of her either." She was suddenly very glad the hallway was deserted, realizing that such a display of aggression towards a ranking Templar would surely have her bound in chains within minutes. But perhaps Cullen had planned it that way, to give them a chance to speak. "There is a war coming Cullen," she said finally as they started off again. "You had better figure out whose side you're on."
Cullen seemed to be watching her again as they continued. "And where do you stand?"
Lyra grunted. "I am a Grey Warden. We don't take sides."
"Like you didn't take sides in Ferelden?" he said curiously.
"I needed the mages to help me stop the blight," she replied stiffly. "That is all."
"Am I supposed to believe that is the only reason you showed them mercy?" he said.
"It IS the only reason," she said firmly. Not exactly truthfull, but what was she was supposed to say? She had spared the mages within the tower because she bloody well felt like it?
"As you wish," he shrugged, stopping before an ornately carved door, obviously the entrance to the Knight-Commanders offices. "But for what its worth, whatever your reasons. I believe you always chose rightly." And with that he knocked three times on the door and stood rigidly staring at the opposite wall until the door was opened and Lyra was ushered inside.
What was that supposed to mean? Did he think she had been right not to kill them all? That couldn't be right. He was a Knight-Captain in a city well known for its oppression of mages. Whose side was he on anyway? She glanced back at Trouble, but he remained in the hallway, whether in avoidance of the Knight-Commander or in order to keep an eye on Cullen, there was no way of knowing. He was his own dog after all.
"Warden-Commander," a hard voice pulled her back from her thoughts and she turned towards the speaker. "Please, sit." The tall woman was gesturing to a chair opposite the desk, then she sat down behind it and folded her hands in front of her.
Lyra took a moment to look around the room. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the walls and she scanned a few titles. 'The First Blight', a complete volume by the look of it, 'History of the Chantry', she imagined every Templar had that one, 'Canticle of Maferath', never opened, and a very well worn copy of 'Death of a Templar'. She had read part of that book once. Morbid stuff, from what she could recall, but then what do you expect from a book called Death of anything? All in all, it wasn't what she had expected. Oh it was sufficiently stark and foreboding like the rest of the fortress, but where were all the egocentric self portraits? The mad scribblings plastered to the walls? Perhaps the woman wasn't as mad and power hungry as she had been led to believe.
"I love what you've done with the place," she said at last, lowering herself into the proffered chair. "Very severe and grim. Quite appropriate for the Gallows, don't you think? You can almost feel the desperation in the air." Meredith continued to study her, her hands clasped in front of her. She wasn't unattractive, perhaps a little hard around the edges but on the whole a handsome woman. Her wavy blond hair fell gently from beneath the spiked headdress she wore like some sort of crown. She seemed cool and collected and you could almost miss the glint in her eye if you weren't looking for it. But was it really madness, or just ambition?
When the Knight-Commander did not respond, Lyra continued. "I assume, then, that i am not in fact here on a social call? No, friendly banter? I do enjoy friendly banter, you know."
"Do you know who I am?" she said at last, flatly dismissing Lyra's comments.
"Well, lets see. You're sitting in the Knight-Commander's chair... Wearing her hat, and a very fine hat it is, too, by the way." Meredith made an exasperated gesture and Lyra decided it would be distinctly unwise to toy with the woman. She had no patience for games and would bide no foolishness. Kind of reminded her of Aveline in that way. "Of course I know who you are, Knight-Commander. Blind sewer rats know who you are. My question is how you know me?"
"Two of my Templars brought back some very interesting reports yesterday," she said calmly, holding up an official looking document as if to study it more closely, then focused her attention once more on the elf before her. "But beyond that, I make it my business to know all important persons arriving in my city."
"Your city is it?" Lyra said calmly.
Meredith stood up and began pacing behind the desk. She was indeed very tall, and Lyra wondered if the woman who could tower over her was trying to intimidate her, or if that was just her natural aura. "Since the viscounts death," she said, "the people of this city have been looking to me for leadership. So, yes, my city. But I wonder why you did not seek me out as soon as you arrived."
Lyra shrugged in an air of nonchalance. "Why should I? I am here on Grey Warden business. It concerns neither you nor the Circle of Magi. As i am sure your men have informed you," she smiled slightly.
Meredith rounded on her. "Those men you accosted were doing their duty to the city of Kirkwall. That man is an apostate."
Meredith seethed before her, her eyes flashing, but Lyra refused to be dragooned by this woman. She stood up in an attempt to face the woman, but realized she would need to stand on a chair to do it properly, and that would just be silly. Well, if she couldn't match her in stature she could certainly do it in intensity. "That MAN is a Grey Warden," she replied fiercely.
"My reports say that he left the Wardens when he came to Kirkwall."
"Blow your reports. He came to Kirkwall BY ORDER of the Grey Wardens." This simple conversation was rapidly turning into a shouting match, and Lyra was damned if she was going to lose. "More specifically the Warden-Commander." Meredith was now on her side of the desk, looking down on the elf. I bet she can't help but look down her nose at people, she thought. That's the only way she can see them. She was glaring down at her, a tactic that usually broke lesser men. But Lyra was staring defiantly back up at her, seemingly undaunted.
Finally she backed away, returning to the other side of the desk, as if it were some sort of barrier of protection, though she needed none. "You have no proof that that is true," she said calmly as she sat down once more.
Lyra remained standing, keeping her guard up against another verbal attack. "And you have no proof that it is not."
The Knight-Commander sighed. "I had hoped for your support in the coming months. But I see now that you have already set yourself against me." She studied Lyra curiously. "Why is that?"
"I do not believe that any one person should wield as much power as you do," she said earnestly, studying Meredith for any reaction. "You command an army of Templars and have in reserve the forces of the City Guard who would probably follow your orders given that, as you say, the people of this city look to you for leadership. In my experience, people in positions such as yours use their power only to enslave and control."
Meredith smiled knowingly. "You are speaking of the mages."
"I am speaking of power, and its misuses." Their eyes were locked in a second battle of wills, this one silent Finally, Lyra broke eye contact and smiled. "But you really shouldn't concern yourself with me Knight-Commander," she said at last. "I am a Grey Warden and by our own law, I am forbidden from involving myself in political matters. I have no interest in openly opposing you. But neither will I support you. Perhaps it is best if we simply ignore each other until we go away."
"And when will that be, exactly?" Meredith asked, an unmistakeable edge to her voice.
Lyra smiled sweetly at the Knight-Commander and turned for the door. "The very instant my business here is concluded." She paused, looking back at the older woman. "One more thing before I go. As I told your men, Anders is under my command and as such, is also under my protection. Should you or any of your Templars attempt to forgo either of those considerations, you will find the matter is no longer about politics." There was a threatening edge to her voice, perhaps not the wisest move in a fortress full of Templar soldiers, but she needed to make her position clear. She needed to make sure Anders would be safe.
Knight-Commander Meredith said nothing, she simply nodded curtly and waved a hand towards the door, indicating that the meeting was over. Lyra took her meaning and exited the room. She found Cullen still standing at the ready on the other side of the door. Had he been waiting all this time? Had he heard the thinly veiled threat? If so, he made no indication. He nodded to her and lead her silently down the hallway, opposite the way they had arrived. Lyra was beginning to get nervous, perhaps she was being arrested after all. After taking another turn she could see an archway on her left leading through to the inner courtyard. She realized that the hallway must wrap around the length of it, and carry on that way several floors upwards as well. Cullen stopped here, just out of sight of the guarded entrance.
"There are many unique sights here in the Circle," he said thoughtfully, staring off into nothingness. "Oddities beyond description." Lyra wondered if he had suddenly gone mad and was talking to himself. "The armoury contains some very interesting items. Of course, it would not do for you to be seen wandering about the fortress unescorted. But sometimes that is the only way to find what you seek, wouldn't you agree?" His eyes locked with hers and he held her gaze for a long moment before he turned towards a set of stairs across the hall from the courtyard. "Well, I'm sure you can find your way from here. I have duties to attend to." He turned and began walking in the opposite direction, but stopped suddenly as if remembering something. "Oh, and Lyra? You were right about one thing. There is a war coming and I have chosen my side. I know you have your own reasons for doing what you do, but don't pretend that it is not personal. That would be a disservice to all we have lost."
Lyra was staring down the stairway he had seemed to be indicating. She wanted to ask him what he meant, but by the time she turned back, he was already rounding the corner at the end of the hall and had disappeared from view. 'It would not do for you to be seen wandering about the fortress unescorted...', she pondered. I guess I'd best not be seen then. And she melted into the shadows, Trouble mimicking her movements. She had always been very good at not being seen. She had picked up a few tricks over the years as well. The Antivan Crow who had travelled with her, Zevran, had taught her a thing or two about the ways of the assassin. To see everything without being seen. A useful skill for anyone up to no good. But then, she had always found 'no good' to be a relative term.
As she slipped noiselessly down the stairs she thought about the assassin whose life she had spared, and had travelled with her from then on. She hadn't seen him since he had disappeared shortly before she had been assigned to Vigil's Keep. She had asked after him from time to time, in Denerim, and a few other towns along the northern border. But either he wasn't keeping up with his old contacts, or he had instructed them to tell no one of his whereabouts. Not even her? That didn't seem likely. They had been... close, once. But perhaps that meant less to him than she had thought. Oh well. She supposed Zevran Aranni had taught her more than one lesson when he left.
She was creeping down a dark passage, lit only by the daylight filtering down from the stairwell at the one end, and the torches that lined the walls. Eventually, the hallway opened up into a large cavern type room supported by stone pillars and arches. The torches that lit the room shed enough light to see by, but also provided ample shadows where she could hide and take in her surroundings. Trouble was smart enough to slink into a darkened corner and stay hidden until he was needed. Smarter than most people she knew.
She seemed to be alone in the room, though she could see the light of a forge in a far corner, and could hear the hissing of hot metal in water as the blacksmith cooled whatever item he was working on. She was surprised to see that the man working over the forge was a dwarf. She had yet to see any other races in the Gallows, but she suspected there must be a few elven mages within the circle itself. Dwarves, however, were not affected by lyrium and therefore could not be mages or Templars. But she supposed the Knight-Commander demanded the best armor and weapons for her private army, and the best was almost always dwarven made.
This seemed to be some kind of storage area. Surplus weapons and armor were on stands lining the walls, some in need of repair, others at the ready. Crates of gods knew what were around but she took little notice of them other than possible hiding places. There were a few practice dummy's set up as well but she guessed these were more for testing the weaponry and armor than any kind of serious training. The ceiling was too low, for one thing, and there was hardly room between the supporting pillars to get a good swing without nicking the blade on the stone. As Lyra edged closer, she could hear the dwarf muttering to himself as he worked, though she couldn't make out the words. She listened to the hammering, hissing, and muttering for what seemed like hours. Few people came through the cavern and she guessed most of the interesting work took place up top.
She had a pretty good view of the forge and workbench from where she crouched behind some crates, but she couldn't imagine what manner of oddities Cullen had been talking about. She saw nothing particularly impressive. A few nice pieces of armor perhaps, but nothing that really warranted her attention. The problem was she couldn't get a closer look at the forge. Not with the smith standing right there. She would just have to wait for him to leave and who knew how long that would take. It seemed she had already been there an eternity and she was sure the guards at the outer gate were wondering why she had not yet left. She was sure there would be search parties sent out at any minute and she was just about to take her leave when the hammering ceased. The dwarf, seemingly satisfied with his work, hung the still dripping breastplate on a rack, and ambled off towards a door at the far end of the room. She had no idea how much time she would have before the smith returned so she hastened over to the forge, scanning the workbench, anvils and tanning racks, but there was nothing odd about any of it. She was just turning to go when something caught her eye. Reflected firelight had flashed red off something on the stone cobbles, Perhaps it was simply some slag from the forge but she doubted it, the flash had been too bright, and yet tiny. Then she saw it. A shard, hardly larger than a sliver, like from cut crystal or broken glass, had fallen from the workbench. There was nothing unusual about that other than it should have been as cold as the stone on which it lay, but when she touched it, she felt an unnatural warmth, and glowed with a reddish light. She imagined it was just from the firelight but something made her hesitate.
There were noises on the other side of the door, voices and footsteps. She hastily picked up the shard, dropping it into the leather pouch she wore around her neck and disappeared into the shadows once more just as the door opened and the dwarf returned, followed by a Templar who had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the stone arches.
"I'm telling you, it's no good," the dwarf was saying.
"The Knight-Commander has no complaints," she heard the other man say.
"But doesn't she realize how wrong that damn thing is? I mean, seriously-"
"Gavik, listen to me. You do good work. The Knight-Commander's happy, I don't see what's the problem."
"The problem is she doesn't know what she's dealing with..." The pair had been walking swiftly and had already reached the far corridor. Their voices trailed away as they passed through the hallway and up the stairs towards the courtyard and she could hear no more. She waited behind the crates a few seconds more before deciding to take her chances and followed the two men up the stairs and back into daylight.