Dhiammara

33 City of Dragons

He stood up on a high balcony that encircled one of the multiple spires of Yinze’s Temple, watching the sun set and listening to the wind shrilling through the grotesque structure to produce the eerie keening known as Incondor’s Lament. The nerve-twisting sound was music to the High Priest’s ears. The Lament belongs to me, he thought. This sound is a part of Aerillia and now it is mine—along with all the rest of the city.

The last of the low autumn sun slid behind the mountains, and the gold light dimmed from the bristling turrets, the soaring towers and the slender, twisted spires of Aerillia. Skua turned one last time to survey his domain. Now that the Magewoman had gone, he could truly call it his. The city of the Winged Folk was of little concern to her: now that she and Sunfeather had taken Dhiammara, they would be surely be content to leave this place to him.—Skua sighed happily. All his life he had been a devout and faithful servant to Yinze, and at last his god had given him his due and proper reward. He had waited years for this moment, serving patiently as a disciple to the corrupt and power-crazed Blacktalon, then dealing with the tantrums, the vacillation and the mistrust of the inexperienced child who had assumed the throne. Though from time to time he experienced a pang of guilt at betraying his queen, he always comforted himself with the thought that he was leading the lost and godless denizens of Aerillia back to the true ways of Yinze. Already he was formulating a stringent new set of laws to protect his flock from sin—for was it not better to punish their bodies in order to save their souls?

Skua shivered, as a raw and icy wind came out of the north. Odd, he thought.—The weather must be changing. Perhaps he should go inside now.... As he walked around the curve of the balcony, he noticed, in the far distance, a great black cloud that seemed to be sweeping down with uncanny speed out of the north. Well, he thought, that would certainly explain this chill—it looks as though we’re in for a rare storm. The approaching tempest, however, could do little to dampen his exhilaration. Aerillia has seen storms before, he thought. I’m sure the city can weather it.

The wind came again, fetid and dank like the exhalation from an open tomb. A shiver of unease passed through the High Priest’s frame, but he told himself firmly that he was imagining things. What could go wrong now? Yinze would never allow any harm to befall his favored servant. From the city below came the thunder of many wings as people began to panic, leaving the city in droves and heading south. Fools, Skua thought. That storm will catch them right out in the open....

The vast black cloud stretched across the sky now, growing larger by the moment. . . . Though Skua knew now that this could be no natural phenomenon, he stayed where he was, paralyzed with horror like a bird fascinated by the glittering gaze of a snake; aghast with the knowledge that Yinze had betrayed him after all, just as Skua had betrayed his queen. He was still standing there when the Nihilim covered Aerillia like a great black cloak, and began to feed.

It took Aurian and her companions two hard nights’ flying to reach the forest on the edge of the Jeweled Desert, sparing little time to hunt and forage on the way. Though Aurian was wearied, as were Linnet and the Xandim, by the grueling journey, the Mage couldn’t help but think wryly of the length of time it had taken her to cross these very mountains on foot when she was heading north, with Eliizar, Nereni, and the Others. As she flew over the forest, seeking the remains of the settlement, the fate of her poor friends made Aurian’s thoughts turn grim. Chiamh had told her what he’d overheard about Eliseth’s attack on the forest community. If Nereni and Eliizar were still alive, they would now be slaves in Aerillia—and what had happened to the Mage’s last, secret gift to them? She had used her healing skill to help her friends conceive their longed-for child at last—but what had happened to it? Had it been safely born?—Had it survived Eliseth’s treacherous onslaught? If anything had happened to them ... Aurian gritted her teeth and clenched her fingers so tightly in Chiamh’s long black mane that he whinnied in protest.

If Eliseth was using the remains of the colony as a supply post, it was certain to be guarded. The Mage’s companions settled down in hiding at the northeastern edge of the forest, well away from both the human colony of Zithra and the Skyfolk settlement of Eyrie up in the hills to the northwest.—Aurian and the Windeye left their bodies and flew in low and silent on the winds, in the darkest hour of the night, to find out just what was taking place. As the sun rose, they found the broad cleared areas in the forest, and saw buildings and cultivated fields in clusters below. Aurian muttered a curse. The whole area was swarming with Skyfolk.

“Good,” said Chiamh determinedly. Even though they were out of their bodies and using mind-speech, he still spoke in a low voice. “This will give us a chance to practice our shielding before we actually get to Dhiammara.”

“Look on the bright side, eh?” Aurian said wryly. “Well, I suppose you’re right. I don’t like leaving an enemy at my back, but what else can we do?”

“If you cut off the head, the rest of the snake will die,” Chiamh reassured the Mage. “Eliseth has the rightful Queen of the Winged Folk in captivity, remember? Once we can free Raven and remove her enemies, these Skyfolk here will change sides pretty quickly—I hope. In the meantime, we may as well take a good look while we’re here,” he added. “Just in case these warriors decide not to cooperate later on, let’s see exactly what we’re up against.”

For a time, they watched the Winged Folk working busily sorting, stacking, and packing the contents of the colony’s storerooms into sacks and nets for transport. Eliizar’s folk had enjoyed a good harvest this year, and Aurian and Chiamh looked wistfully at the piles of fruit, vegetables, grain, and dried meat that were all being paraded before them. Aurian sighed. “I wish it were possible to actually steal stuff in this incorporeal form.”

“Ah well,” said Chiamh, “it won’t be too much longer before we’re feasting in Aerillia.”

“I know you can fly tremendously fast in your equine form, but we can’t go as fast as when we ride the winds,” Aurian argued. “It’s bound to take more than a night to get across the desert, though. We’ll be pushing it to get there in three.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make it,” Chiamh comforted her.

“We’d be a lot more sure to make it if we could get some food from down there, and some extra cloaks and blankets to shelter us from the glare of the desert days.”

When Aurian and the Windeye returned to the others and made their report, however, Linnet spoke up immediately. “We don’t have to go without that stuff.—I can go down and get what we need. I’ll say I’ve just been transferred from Aerillia—they’ll never know.”

The Mage found herself beginning to smile. “What—you just plan to walk in, take the food, and walk out again? As easily as that?”

“No.” Linnet shook her head. “No, I’m not quite that innocent, Lady. I doubt it will really be that simple. I think it is possible, though.”

Aurian nodded thoughtfully. “I believe you’re right.”

“Let me go too,” Wolf broke in eagerly. “No one would suspect a wolf. ...”

“You’re right, they wouldn’t,” Forral said flatly. “They’d just put an arrow through him. This isn’t Eilin’s valley now, Wolf. You’ll stay right here.”

Wolf subsided with a sulky whine.

“Don’t even think about it,” Forral told him firmly. “I’m going to be watching you like a hawk, my boy. You aren’t going anywhere.”

Later that day, after she had rested, Linnet bathed in a freezing mountain stream with the usual disregard that the Winged Folk displayed toward cold, and tried to make herself as presentable as possible. Then she set off flying toward Zithra, taking with her the hopes and good wishes of all her companions. The winged girl’s stomach was taut with a mixture of nerves and excitement. She was well aware how much he depended on her—and just how much danger was involved. She must be very careful not to let them catch her out.—As she reached the outskirts of the settlement, Linnet was hailed in midair.

“Hoi You! Where are you going? Identify yourself!”

The winged girl looked round to see two armed sentries arrowing up at her from the trees on the hillside. Wary of the crossbows that they carried, she descended at once to land in a clearing. As soon as she touched the ground, the sentinels closed in on her. “Where are you from?” one of them demanded. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“Haven’t you?” Linnet retorted pertly. “You haven’t been looking then. I’ve been up in Eyrie, clearing buildings. They sent me down here to help out.”

“Where’s your uniform?” The other guard demanded. “You look like the contents of a ragbag.”

Linnet laughed. “That’s just what I’m wearing. I had an accident yesterday when a bag of rotten fruit burst all over me. They had to kit me out from what they could find in Eyrie while my gear was cleaned—the smell was unbelievable.”

One of the sentries laughed. “I can well imagine,” he said. “All right, girl.—Off you go down to the settlement—they’ll soon find enough work for you down there. Don’t burst any more bags of fruit now, will you?” he called after her as she left.

Limp with relief, Linnet glided down to the main settlement in the valley, where she found a winged captain in charge of the foodstuffs and told her story again. The captain, busy and harassed, didn’t even bother to ask any questions—she was only too glad of an extra pair of hands. Soon the winged girl found herself in a line of workers packing food into sacks for transportation to Dhiammara.

It was a simple enough matter to appropriate two of the sacks: one of cheeses, and one of dried meat, plus a pair of large waxed skins for carrying water.—Linnet simply “lost” the bags and left them in a dark out-of-the-way corner in a lean-to porch on one of the houses. Along with a bundle of old blankets filched from one of the houses, that was all she could carry. It was more difficult to sneak away from the work team, but Linnet chose her moment.—Slipping back between the houses she returned to her precious loot, arranging her burdens as best she could about her person and slinging them in position with rope. Looking carefully around her to make sure she was not being watched, she headed off, flying low between the trees rather than taking to the open skies where she could be spotted.

It had to happen, of course, in a place where the tree cover was thin, but at least the sound of wings overhead served as a warning. Linnet looked up to see a patrol of winged warriors in the distance, heading toward her. Her heart leapt into her throat. Her pilfering had been discovered and they were coming for her! Then she realized that they were coming from Eyrie—entirely the wrong direction. “Idiot!” she told herself Nonetheless, if she couldn’t get herself under cover, there would be some very awkward questions asked. Linnet looked around wildly; then, through the trees to the right of her, she noted the glint of grey stone. A building? Here, so far beyond the settlement? Thank Yinze for a miracle!

The house was a burnt-out ruin, but plenty of hiding places could still be found among the rubble. Linnet slipped into a niche beneath a cluster of beams that had fallen like a child’s jackstraws, somehow supporting each other without falling down. Crouching there in the sooty, smoke-reeking darkness, she listened hard until the sound of wings had completely cleared from the skies.

Dusk was falling as Linnet struggled out from her cramped refuge, straightening her filthy wings with a sigh of relief.

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot!”

The winged girl stiffened, cursing under her breath. Not now, when she was so close . . .

“Put those bags down and step away from them!”

Suddenly it occurred to Linnet that the voice sounded terribly young. . . .—Stooping as if to slip the bags from her shoulders, she reached down swiftly and picked up a stone from the rubble, turning and throwing in one fluid motion. There was a cry of pain, a crossbow bolt whizzed harmlessly past her left ear to go clattering off a piece of broken wall—and Linnet turned fully, to see two children in the shadows.

Aurian looked at the pair of youngsters, still unable to believe that this lovely young girl was the child, she had helped Nereni conceive. “I’m amazed that you survived,” she said to Amahli “You were incredibly lucky not to suffocate in that cellar when the rest of the house burned above you.”

“It was the wine cellar,” the winged lad explained. “It was ventilated. There was air coming in from the outside all the time.”

Aurian was scarcely listening. She was remembering Tiercel’s father, Petrel, and wondering whether he had survived the attack.

“We had an awful time getting food, though,” Amahli added. “We could only go out at night and forage in the woods....”

“I’m glad you came.” Abruptly Tiercel’s cloak of assumed maturity fell away from him. “We couldn’t have stayed there forever, but I just didn’t know what else to do or where to go.”

The Mage wished that she could so easily hand on the responsibility for everyone. Sadly, that had never happened for years, and probably never would again.

“Lady,” Linnet reminded her urgently. “They’re bound to miss me soon, down at the settlement. We should go now, before they start combing the forest. And we can’t leave these two here to be caught.”

“You’d rather take them into the midst of a battle?” Aurian asked her waspishly—but she knew that the winged girl was right. “Very well,” she said.

“It’s dark enough to take on the desert now, so let’s get moving. Amahli—you ride behind Forral on Schiannath’s back. Tiercel—can you manage to fly the distance?”

The dark-haired lad grinned. “Don’t worry, Lady. After these last cramped days of hiding, I’m looking forward to stretching my wings.”

When everyone was mounted and assembled with all their burdens, Aurian leapt up on Chiamh’s back and helped Grince up behind her. “Right, my friend,” she murmured to the Wind-eye. “Let’s do it—now!”

The Mage felt Chiamh’s mind join with hers as together they meshed their shields into an amalgam of two different types of magic. Aurian was using the High Magic of the Staff to protect them from magical view through scrying, and also to shield them so that the spy, whoever he was, could not pass on any messages to Eliseth as to their whereabouts and progress. Chiamh, on the other hand, was protecting the companions from physical view by a variation of his illusion spell. He was simply projecting an illusion, in fact, that there was no one there at all. It took a great deal of concentration to keep it up, but it certainly seemed to work very well, as Aurian had discovered that day in the forest.

As they took off into the darkening sky and headed for the desert, the Mage realized that talisman or no talisman, she was now feeling the pressure of their additional burdens of water, food, and Amahli, plus the different kind of strain involving the maintenance of her magical shield. She knew that Chiamh too must be in a similar predicament, and only hoped that their strength would hold out long enough for them to get to Dhiammara and do what they had to do. The next few days would be crucial.

“Hey—two of the horses have got loose!” The Khazalim sentry on watch at the cavern mouth could not believe his eyes, though he was glad of a diversion to break the monotony of this pointless duty. “Come and help me,” he yelled at his fellow-guard. Between them they managed to round up the horses, which were milling about near the entrance to the cavern. The creatures, quite docile, allowed themselves to be led back inside to the picket lines. The guards, preoccupied, had their backs turned toward the opening, and did not notice the lithe, shadowy figures of the two great cats who slipped on silent feet into the vast, sparsely torchlit cave.

“Reaper’s curse on these troopers,” the sentry grumbled as he fastened the animals up again. “Some of them are so careless. Why, these poor creatures might still have been wandering about outside when the sun came up, and that would have been the end of them—and such handsome animals, too,” he added, smoothing the neck of the white mare as she nosed in his pocket for tidbits.

“Why, if I had such a beast as this, I’d take better care of her.”

“Hurry up,” grumbled his partner, clearly less of a lover of horseflesh.

“We’ll be skinned alive if the captain finds us away from our posts.”

“I can’t for the life of me think why. The prisoners are all locked up, and who’s going to risk their life crossing that accursed desert to get to this place? The arse-end of nowhere—that’s where we are . . .” The men’s voices faced into the distance as they walked away. Once they were safely gone, the white mare spat out a bunch of keys onto the sand. Then the outlines of both beasts blurred and shimmered, and Iscalda and Schiannath stood in their place.—Using the lines of genuine horses as cover, they picked up the keys that Iscalda had lifted from the guard’s pocket and melted into the shadows at the far end of the cavern, keeping well away from the soldiers bivouacked around the upper pool. Near the slave stockade, built around the pool on the lower level, they were joined by two great cats.

Eliizar didn’t sleep any more. No matter how hard the slaves were worked through the day, either clearing and repairing it the jeweled buildings in the city above or exploring and opening up the chambers that honeycombed the mountain, he would return to the stockade at night, pick at his supper, and spend what should have been his hours of rest leaning against the bars that caged him, staring into space and thinking about his daughter. He scarcely even talked to Nereni these days. At first she had been sympathetic, then she had grown worried, and finally angry, but nothing she said made any difference to Eliizar any more. The present was so unbearable to him that he preferred to spend all his time walking in the sunlit afternoons of the past.

“Eliizar? Eliizar!” The swordmaster came out of his reverie to hear someone calling his name in a hissing whisper. As his vision came back into focus, the blurred patter of light and shade on the other side of the bars resolved itself into a familiar face.

“Schiannath?”

“Shhh! Listen, Eliizar—and for the sake of the goddess, keep quiet! Aurian is here. We need to free you folk and create a diversion in these lower caverns.—Here are the keys—” He passed the bunch, warm from his hand and for some reason somewhat wet and sticky, to Eliizar. “Now,” he went on, “I want you to creep around and unlock all the shackles on the Skyfolk before we do anything else. And whatever you do, keep them from getting excited. If we wake the guards at this point, we’re lost.”

Eliizar nodded, his heart beating fast with excitement. Just as he was turning to go, the Xandim warrior reached through the bars and caught his sleeve.

“Oh—and I almost forgot,” he whispered. “We found your daughter in the settlement. She’s alive!” He faded back into the shadows, leaving the speechless swordmaster alone. As the import of Schiannath’s words gradually came home to him, Eliizar felt his heart, which had been closed and clenched so long in grief, opening up like a flower. Tears of joy and gratitude blurred the sight in his one good eye. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Oh, thank you!” In that moment, he had no idea to whom he was speaking; but the words were no less heartfelt for that.

Raven sat with her son on her lap and her little daughter in her arms, rocking both children absently as they slept. She was glad of them now, just as she was glad of the support and companionship of Nereni, who stayed with her constantly. Aguila, by some miracle, still lived, but as he had sunk deeper and deeper into a torpid state, Raven had gradually given up hope that he would ever wake again. Now he seemed to exist between two worlds: barely clinging to life, but somehow, with a stubborn determination that was so much a part of his waking nature, refusing to accept the finality of death.—As she kept vigil, Raven found herself thinking more and more often of their early days—of how he had cheered her first lonely days as Queen, and how, when they had first met, she had treated him as a coarse and common soldier until dear Elster had put her right, and told her to marry him. Raven recalled the ridiculous look of shocked incredulity on his face when she had asked him to wed her, and smiled fondly through a glimmer of tears. “Oh, Aguila—get well, you idiot. Come back to me, please. . . .” So lost was she in her prayers and memories that she did not notice the stealthy movement and the buzz of subdued excitement that was taking place around her. The first thing she saw was Eliizar, with an enormous smile on his face, holding out a bunch of keys. He was looking right through her, however—he only had eyes for his wife. “Nereni, Nereni,” he whispered joyously. “Amahli is alive!”

Eliizar returned to Schiannath. “Now what?” he whispered. Schiannath’s grin flashed white in the darkness. “Now we turn the tables on your guards,” he whispered. “Dead or imprisoned, I don’t care—but none, absolutely none of the enemy must be permitted to escape to warn the folk above. Pass the word. I’m going to open these gates now. Tell them to wait for my signal—and come out fighting.”

As the thick band of storm clouds blotted out the last of the moonlight across the Dragon City, Eliseth paced the lofty observation platform on top of Dhiammara’s highest tower, unable to contain her restlessness. “Where is she?” she muttered. “Aurian must come soon.”

It was completely unnerving. For three days now, the Magewoman had been blind and deaf as to Aurian’s whereabouts. Just when the wretched woman had been heading south toward the desert, and Eliseth really needed to keep a close eye on her enemy’s progress, she had lost contact with her spy. Each time she tried to insinuate herself into Vannor’s mind, she had come across a hard, blank, reflective surface that would not yield to her probing will. “That bitch is coming, though,” Eliseth said to herself “I just know it.” Already she had doubled her patrols in the skies around the mountain, and put the Khazalim troops who manned the lower corridors on full alert. The grail and the Sword were safely hidden, and she had just completed her last defense—the buildup of a storm above the city that she could unleash at will. Surely, that would be enough?

“It’s been a long lime, Eliseth—I’ve been looking forward to this meeting!”

With an inarticulate cry, the Magewoman spun round, looking frantically for the source of her enemy’s voice. There was no one on the rooftop, but there, down there among the city’s scattered buildings—was that not a tall, familiar figure with flaming hair? Curse her—she was heading for the emerald tower!—Frantically, Eliseth waved her arms, trying to attract the attention of the guards she had stationed round the rim of the crater. “There,” she cried. “Are you blind, you fools? Aurian is here! Why did you let her through?” She ran to the edge of the roof and began a headlong descent of the spiral track that led down to the ground, but her pace was slowed by the need for care, for there was no rail or guard to prevent her from plunging to her death should she miss her footing. Down in the city, the Mage had disappeared.

The fight in the great cavern was brief but bloody. The settlers of both races, winged and human, were savagely glad of a chance to avenge their dead and repay the ruin of all their dreams. The Khazalim woke to find their sentries gone, their weapons stolen, and the exits to the cavern blocked, the cave mouth to the outside being guarded by two black demons of unmatched ferocity. The access that had been hewn into the bowels of the mountain as an alternative to the Dragonfolk’s peculiar crystaline means of transport up to the city was blocked by two strange Northern warriors—a man and a woman—who were soon joined by the slave who had been the leader of the rebels, the man who, rumor said, had killed the great swordsman Xiang himself. No one dared face him now that he was free.

A good half of the Southern warriors survived: mainly those with the intelligence to realize that their cause was lost from the start. They were locked in the same stockades that they had previously been guarding, with the knowledge that their own laziness and laxity had put them there.

When the cavern had been secured, Aguila and the rest of the wounded settlers were gently lifted or helped from the stockade before the enemy were locked inside. They were made comfortable in the encampment near the upper pool as the leaders gathered there to make their plans.

“What now?” Petrel asked Schiannath. Like Eliizar and Nereni, the winged man and his mate Firecrest were ablaze with excitement at the news of their child’s miraculous survival.

“Now we get up to the city,” the Xandim said. “Aurian said there was a secret way up, something I couldn’t make out about a crystal, but if Eliseth had brought the Khazalim in to guard this cavern, she must know about it....”

“I don’t think she does,” Nereni put in. “From what we could overhear, she discovered the cavern separately from the chambers in the mountain—she got into those from above. That’s why she made us dig a way into the lower levels of chambers—she thought that failing all else, she’d make her own entrance.—There were two transporting crystals,” she added brightly, ignoring Eliizar, whose smile was vanishing rapidly. “We didn’t go in them, but Shia did.” The little woman frowned, trying to remember. “There was one by the pool,” she chattered brightly—“don’t poke me like that, Eliizar, you know how I bruise—but that one didn’t go all the way, and they had an awful time, Aurian said, with chasms and invisible bridges and all sorts. And then there was another one—the one they came down by. That one was in the back of the cavern, over there. ...”

Shia went to the back wall, her whiskers bristling, and sniffed at the stone.—Suddenly she halted with a low growl, all the hair on her spine standing up on end. Though they had no Mage to interpret for them, it was quite clear that the cat had I found the place.

Schiannath leapt to his feet. “Right, let’s get moving,” he said briskly.

“Skyfolk, you can fly up the outside of the mountain. You’ll know what to do when you get up there—your task is to deal with the airborne threat. We’ll have to go up in shifts—how many folk do you think this contraption will take, Nereni?”

The woman shrugged. “About six or eight, I would think. Not many.”

“Well, the cats can be first,” Schiannath decided. “They can do the fighting of about ten! Iscalda, you had better go with them to get things organized at the top—and what about you, Eliizar? Do you want to go in the first load?”

Eliizar stepped back hastily. His face had gone a ghastly greenish shade. “I don’t—” he began. Nereni narrowed her eyes at him. “Your daughter is up there,” she said.

The swordmaster swallowed, and stepped forward. “All right—let’s get this over with.”

Nereni hugged him. “I’m very proud of you,” she said softly, and stepped back to join Raven, who was staying behind with Jharav to take care of the wounded and the children.

Since Nereni couldn’t fight, she knew there was no sense in her trying to take a warrior’s place. Nevertheless, as she watched the warriors departing in small groups, as though they had been sucked into nothingness by the wall, she wished vehemently that at some time in her life, she’d had a chance to learn to fight.

“But you can’t just go off like that and leave us all alone,”

Amahli protested to the man with one hand. “The Lady Aurian said you were supposed to stay here in this building and guard us. What if someone comes?”

“No one will come,” Vannor said impatiently. “And I don’t see why I should have to stay here and miss all the action playing nursemaid. You’ll have to manage. You’ve got the wolf, after all.” With that, he was gone.

A moment later, when Amahli and Tiercel looked around for the wolf, he was gone too.

“All right, Grince—let’s see how good a thief you really are,” Aurian whispered.

Since the entrance to the emerald tower had been destroyed in the earthquake, Eliseth’s slaves had repaired it with stone from the mountain, and hung a great, heavy iron door with a series of complex locks.

“Where in the name of all Creation did she get that from?” Forral muttered.—Aurian shrugged. “There were a whole lot of chambers down inside the mountain with doors like this. We never did find out what was behind them—we couldn’t get inside.”

“I’ll get inside the bugger,” Grince muttered, sliding a slender dagger into one of the latches. “I never saw a lock that could beat me yet.”

“Well, hurry up,” Forral told him. “We want to be in there before Eliseth thinks to come back this way....”

Suddenly Aurian’s hawk took off from her shoulder and flew round her head in circles, screeching with excitement. “Look The Mage pointed upward. “They did it! The cats and the Xandim have freed the slaves!” In the sky above, the air was full of winged figures, swooping and swerving through the low storm clouds as they fought with savage ferocity. Behind her, from Grince, came the sounds of clicking, scraping, and swearing. She realized that now the slaves had been freed, Shia would be bringing folk up in the crystal contrivance that emerged within the emerald tower—and the tower had better be open. “Grince,” she said, “do you think you’ll be ...”

“Got it!” the thief grunted. There was one last click, and the door swung open.

“Good man!” Aurian clapped him on the back.

Grince grinned up at her. “Told you you’d need me, didn’t I?” he said.—The spiral corridor within the tower still glowed with its faint green light, and Aurian was assailed by a powerful memory. She turned back to Forral and took his hand. “Do you remember this place?” she said softly. “You came back to me and led me here....”

“Of course I remember,” the swordsman said with a catch in his voice. “Gods, but it was good to see you again! I got into dreadful trouble with Death over that escapade—” He squeezed her hand. “It was worth it, though.”

They rounded a curve of the spiral to discover that the crystal contrivance had already disgorged the cats, Iscalda, and Eliizar. With a whoop of delight, Aurian hugged Eliizar. “Where’s my daughter?” the swordmaster asked her urgently.

“She’s safe, don’t worry. She’s in one of the buildings, and she’s guarded.”

She turned to Iscalda. “Just keep them coming while we search this building.”

“We can’t.” Shia looked glum. “It’s jammed. I remember, it was never the same after the earthquake—well, this is all of us you’re going to get.”

“Well, we’ll have to manage,” Aurian said. “We’d better start by searching the building in any case.” The Mage was absolutely certain that Eliseth would have locked up the sword and the grail in this place—but after a fruitless search of the emerald tower, she was forced to admit she was wrong. Standing in the midst of the sunburst chamber, the heart of the tower, Aurian gave herself up to some serious swearing. If the Artifacts were not here, then where were they? And more to the point—where was Eliseth?