The Warden

Chapter 53

"Which one do you think, Domrae?" asked General Biligrim, head toggling between the options.

Masis made no answer, standing stalk still.

Three paths stood before them. Three options. Three possible mistakes. Three possible escapes.

Shade! Masis cursed, hands shaking. Three. Three! THREE! Why three, by Manu?!

He considered each, holding his breath.

No signs or markings at their mouths indicated where they might lead. None of their floors sloped upward or downward. Stepping into each in turn, Masis' nose could not discern any wisps of fresh air. Each appeared identical, except for their directions. One continued straight ahead. The other two bore off to the right and left respectively.

Nothing appeared to make one better than the others.

"I... I don't know," Masis finally said.

Where's the guardian? wondered Masis, thoughts aflutter.

Whenever his tutors had given him a logic problem like this one there had always been some sort of creature—usually a talking beast—that would answer your questions, usually with lies, so that a decision could be made. But no deceiver stood nearby to help them. They had nothing but their wits.

"I suppose we just choose one, then," said the general, stepping back to the middle of the intersection, "and hope for the best."

"Hope for the best?" asked Masis, craning his neck around to look at the older man, his mouth gaping. "You can't be serious."

"Do you have a better idea?" asked the general, motioning to the three tunnels. "There are no clues to which one will get us out of here, and that's if any of them actually lead out. We have a one in three shot. I don't mind those odds."

"But we won't get another chance," said Masis drawing his brows together, his breath catching in his throat. "There will be no turning around, not with the wighties at our back. We get one chance to make it out and warn the sovereigns. One chance. Do you really want to leave that to dumb luck?"

Throwing his hands out, General Biligrim's head wobbled as though he had lost control of his neck. "Well, what do you suggest we do then?" His voice rose, emphasizing his question. "Pray?!"

"Just," said Masis, shushing with his hands, "just give me a moment."

"That's about all we have," muttered the general as Masis moved to the epicenter of the crossroads.

Werold, thought Masis, closing his eyes, if ever there were a time to answer, now would be it.

Squeezing his eyes tighter, he turned to the left veering passage. He again sampled the air. Nothing new stood out from the dank atmosphere. He turned to the middle option, repeating what he had done. Again, nothing new became apparent.

Please, please, please, projected Masis from his mind out into a void he hoped wasn't empty. He had caught Kyla having conversations with open air. Maybe—possibly, hopefully—they were more than the ramblings of a mad woman.

He shifted his body to face the last tunnel, bearing off to the right. Again, he sniffed, sifting through the air's layers for any indication of something different down its length. Nothing but mildew and rust greeted him.

He cursed, slouching. Werold, I'm not asking you to stop your course around Wilo. We just need one little...

A glimmer, more a flicker, so faint it might have been imagined, sparked in his mindeye. It came from somewhere down the right tunnel. He sniffed again. Cedar. The unmistakable, clean smell of cedar tickled Masis' nose. He searched for it again, but it had already faded.