Chapter 66
It was not a difficult climb, skill-wise, but that did not make it any less taxing.
Though the scaffold-tower hugging the western wall of Tratheke had been built with care and precision, it was still made of wood. While the materials made it easy for Tristan to pull himself up with hammer and bolt, bringing up his rope with him as he did, the whole edifice felt like a reed about to fall over. It did not help that the wind had the wooden panels rattling and that a combination of time and the elements had visibly taken a toll on the structure.
At least there was little chance of his being seen, hidden under cover of night as he was, or of getting lost on his way: the chamber at the top had lit lamps, lending it the look of the flame on a candle’s tip, but night had fallen and the remainder was dark.
Hector Anaidon – there was no mistaking the silhouette – had entered the hideout the better part of half an hour ago, so Tristan knew this would be a close-run thing. He had moved the moment the man showed his face, but there was no telling how long Anaidon would spend downstairs before entertaining his guests in the upstairs chamber.
The lift was still at the bottom of the structure, at least. With a little luck Tristan would have time to hide and plan his ambush.
About three quarters of the way up, limbs trembling and sweat trickling down his back, Tristan found himself gritting his teeth and swallowing a snarl as weight pressed down on his left. Sakkas, that hateful beast, had just landed on his shoulder. The bird was light for its size, its talons barely felt through the black coat, but still too damn heavy.
“Not now,” he hissed, taking a hand off the hold to slap away the magpie. “What do you think you’re-”
It flew off with a cackling call.
“Shit,” Fortuna whispered, straight into his ear. “Tristan, it was warning us: the lift is moving.”