at an arrow, crumpled. The wagon lurched against the open gate, stopped; the two oxen pulling it, somehow free, set off for the castle yard on an unsuccessful search for grass. The wagon's driver raised a bow, put an arrow through one of the men at the gate. Caralla, clear of the cloth that had disguised her as a dead deer, came out of the back of the wagon at a run, hit one guard with her shoulder, spun past into the tower doorway; the little room was empty. A guard came after her, heading for the winch and the beam that would release the portcullis—at least one man in the castle who knew his job. She struck at his shield with all her strength—once inside the small room, her longer