The Grave thief

CHAPTER 14

'What do you mean, you don't know?' Natai Escral, Duchess of Byora, shouted across her breakfast table. The object of her ire, a sallow-faced marshal called Harin Dyar, shrank back under the force of her demand. Natai was sitting bolt upright, a laden fork pointed at the unusually scruffy officer.

'What use is "I don't know"?' She was alone at the table; although a place had been laid for her husband, matters of state had got her up early, as usual.

Behind her a child started to cry: Minnay, an orphaned toddler, one of her dozen wards. She saw the haggard woman she'd named Eliane standing nearby, Ruhen content in her arms after half an hour of crawling around on the floor under Natai's supervision.

Qood, I didn't disturb him, she thought with a smile. I wouldn't want him to cry — that sound breaks my heart.

'Ah, your Grace, Hale is effectively locked down,' Dyar stammered after a few moments. 'I cannot get any of my troops in to investigate.'

'Locked down?' she hissed, still angry, but mindful of Ruhen's presence. 'You mean you've allowed a handful of crippled old men to keep my soldiers from my own damn city?'

'Your Grace, we will need to use force to get into the quarter,' Dyar protested, 'and I do not have enough men — Hale's penitents outnumber those under my command.'

' Marshal, how is it you cannot even brief me on what has happened? Why does the Byoran Guard not hold these streets?' She looked around, as if her wards — or the four nurses tending them — could provide answers where Dyar could not. The room, one of the largest in the palace, had once been a communal chamber for her grandfather's harem. It was both opulent and elegant, and Natai spent much of her leisure time there, surrounded by children.

No one spoke. The nurses all looked away, trying not to catch her eye. Eliane stared at the floor — but she rarely did much else. Since she had been saved from being trampled in Criers Square, Eliane had managed to frustrate all attempts to build up her painfully thin frame. Nor had anyone been able to coax any word of her past out of her. She claimed to have no memory of what had happened before she reached Byora, but Natai didn't believe it. Something in Eliane's eyes betrayed a damaged soul, a fear so deep it had become part of her. Despite her apparent ill-health, her production of milk remained healthy and Ruhen was thriving, even while his mother wasted away. All she did was to clutch that damn book, and she wailed like a daemon if anyone tried to take it from her.

'Your Grace?' called a voice.

Natai jerked her head up, looking at Dyar, before realising he and his aides were staring, astonished, at one of the soldiers at the door.

What in the name of the Qods? Who's that impudent-? Natai's thought went unfinished, for the face was familiar. He wore the crimson tunic and black trousers of her guard, but he had added what appeared to be long armoured gloves. The uniform was pristine, but the gloves, blue-sheened metal bound by a random crisscross of twine, were battered. They triggered the memory.

Ah., Ruhen's protector, of course, Natai told herself. 'Sergeant Kayel, isn't it?' she asked.

He saluted awkwardly. 'Honoured you remember, ma'am.'

Ma'am? I'm not some damned merchant's wife, she thought, but before she could chastise the man she found herself turning towards Eliane and the child. Ruhen was smiling up at the painted birds wheeling around the various aspects of Hit and Vellern. The whole chamber was decorated in such a way — a lot more wholesome for innocent young children than the original paintings. She hesitated, snared by Ruhen's shining smile, and by the time she remembered herself, her anger had disappeared.

She turned back to the soldier. 'You have something to add, Sergeant?'

'Yes, your Grace. I was in Hale last night. Can't tell you exactly what's going on, but I caught sight of a right mess in Alterr's temple and some young novice was chatterin' that the high priest had died.'

'Lier is dead?' Natai went white. 'Gods, how could that have happened? You said a mess, what sort of mess?'

Kayel grinned. 'Looked like it'd been hit by a siege weapon, 'cept the wall of the greater chamber had been blown out, not inwards. Lots of armed penitents around, and a right ugly mood. Someone said something about the Lady, or a priestess* of the Lady, bein' involved.'

'The Lady? Could this be a feud between temples?' Natai stopped suddenly as she had a chilling thought. 'A feud between Gods?'

'Perhaps, ma'am, but there's a whole lot of anger over there, and men runnin' around lookin' for someone to blame.'

'What were you doing in the Temple District so late at night?' she asked, then worked it out before he replied. 'Ah, a little praying at Etesia's temple?'

Kayel shifted his feet. 'Spoke a few words at the Temple of Death too.'

'Are you suggesting that sending troops to investigate will cause a full-scale riot?'

'I'm sayin' they looked like they were ready to start a fight given the first excuse. Might not stop at a riot either way.'

'Do you have any suggestions for Marshal Dyar then?' She had meant to mock the marshal's ineffectiveness but Kayel didn't hesitate.

'Find a mage to tell you what's happened. Then when the district is open again send some men in without uniforms; see who's doin' all the talkin', who's doin' the blamin'. There's always some bastard who don't care what happened, only how to use it to their own ends.'

'You really think this will escalate?'

The sergeant shrugged. 'You want to take the risk? Wasn't the High Priest of Alterr tryin' to tell you how to run the city?'

Natai almost laughed at his implication until she realised he was entirely serious.

'Wouldn't be surprised if they done it themselves,' Kayel added, 'but my money's on you gettin' the blame whichever way.'

She stared down at the breakfast she had abandoned. The Circle City was a playground of intrigue: four distinct domains, and until recently, four very different leaders. The White Circle leaders of Fortinn had fled and the quarter was now ruled by a triumvirate appointed by the three remaining leaders. It was a temporary solution suggested by the duchess herself.

The corpulent Chosen of Hit, Lord Celao, had taken a fair amount of persuading, but at least Cardinal Sourl had had the brains to realise she was right. With bad news coming from all directions, business would be disrupted enough. They would still play their games, of course, but they all had to recognise open war over control of Fortinn would be madness.

Either of them could be behind this, Natai realised. They both stand to benefit from religious insurrection here. Qods, they aren't working together, are they? No, that is too farfetched. Even with their renewed piety, 1 can't see any alliance lasting long enough for them to execute a plan together properly.

'Marshal, I want your full complement of troops out on the streets; concentrated on Coin, Wheel and Breakale for the moment. Make it clear to the population that business goes on unhindered.' Again the fork stabbed in his direction, emphasising her point.

The man bowed and scurried out, not trying to hide the relieved expression on his face. His two aides were on his heels. As they left, the duchess's principal minister strode in alongside the duke and she breathed a sigh of relief: at last she would hear something useful. Her husband wore a concerned expression, but Sir Arite Leyen was his usual picture of calm. He inspected the faces in the room, then bowed.

'Sir Arite, where have you been?' She raised a hand to cut off any reply. 'No, I don't actually care, just tell me what you know — and it had better be more than I've already heard from this sergeant or I'll damn well put him in charge of the Closed Council instead!'

A second bow was the only response to her threat; that in itself was ominous enough since Sir Arite generally managed a feeble joke in most situations. 'Your Grace, I was busy in the Vier Tower with Mage Peness.'

She pictured the thin-lipped mage whose round face seemed to distend when he smiled. 'Peness? What does that wheedling little toad want?'

'Merely to help his sovereign,' Sir Arite assured her before looking pointedly at the onlookers.

'Sergeant, help the children back to their rooms,' Natai ordered.

Kayel looked startled at the command, but he hesitated for just a moment before he started to move. The children and their nurses all took one look at the hulking, scar-faced soldier and fled, even Eliane, which provoked a spark of irritation in the duchess. She'd wanted to hold Ruhen a little longer this morning, letting the stresses of rule melt away in his shadowy little eyes.

Those hypnotic eyes.

Eliane's were grey, dull; they hardly compared to the rich swirl of shadow in Ruhen's. When Natai spoke soft, adoring words he seemed to drink them in, to revel in her love for him, even as young as he was. The baby would lie quite contentedly in her arms and look at her with incredible intensity, hardly ever blinking; his stare managed to revive her in a way sleep no longer could.

She shook herself back to the present; there would be time enough for Ruhen later. 'Sergeant, stay here; the rest of you leave us.' Seeing Sir Arite's surprise, she added, 'He was in the district last night. He's the only one who seems to know anything.'

'As you wish, but my news is rather alarming.'

'First of all, tell me if this was Sourl or Celao?' she said, forcing herself to regain the serene composure she was known for.

' I doubt it was either, I wish it was both,' Sir Arite said eventually. He gave the big soldier a suspicious look and Kayel stared back, unfazed. 'Your Grace, I really do think it would be better if-'

'Just tell me.'

At her expression he seemed to deflate a little. 'Peness says that there was a vast amount of magic expended last night — a terrifying level of raw energy.'

'Strong words.'

'The man was frightened.' He leaned forward, his voice dropping. 'Peness is one of the most powerful mages in the city, and he was Hightened by what he described.' The words seemed to hang in the air between them until Kayel sniffed, apparently unimpressed.

'Did he say why he was so afraid?' Natai asked, ignoring the soldier.

' I He couldn't be sure. He was being evasive, but I don't believe it was through ill-will. Mages tend to have their own allegiances and an entirely different range of concerns — I believe he was worried about interfering in the business of others.'

'Who would worry our most powerful mage.''

Sir Arite looked grave. 'He doesn't want to make an enemy of anyone who can wield the sort of power expended in Hale last night. Whoever it was, I gather they could have levelled the entire district.'

'Gods,' Natai breathed, feeling a chill run down her neck.

'And that's not the only news.' The knight's eyes narrowed and his voice fell to a whisper, as though his news was too terrible to be spoken in normal tones. 'Whoever wielded that power — it wasn't just against the high priest. It fought a being of near-equal strength — magic such as few mortals possess — and it killed them.'

A dull note of pain thrummed through her body. Every sensation was overlaid and muted by a heavy blanket of aching which weighed her down. There was a distant, unidentifiable sound ringing in her ears. As Legana drifted through the empty dream of near-wakefulness she felt something missing, a hole inside her that spoke of something too terrible to remember.

An involuntary twitch in her leg suddenly brought the pain in her side back into focus, sharp and hot. Her lips parted with a gluey jerk as she moaned. The ringing in her ears became more insistent; a spiky, wet feeling that reached all around her head and dug its claws into her neck. For a while Legana lay motionless, unable to hear her own whimpers, until the pain in her side subsided a little and she chanced a look at the Land.

It was difficult to open her eyes. It felt like a long-forgotten movement that required her full force of will to achieve, and when at last she succeeded, she saw little; just a shadowy blur of yellow, and the suggestion of lines that might indicate the shape of a room. Taking too deep a breath she moaned again and a spark of fear flared in her heart. The pain was an aside; what frightened her was the fact she could hear neither breath nor moan, though she could feel the air slide between her tender lips.

The blur ahead changed all of a sudden as a dark shape moved into her field of vision. It eventually resolved into the form of a man, a tonsured priest, standing over her, although the dimness remained and her head began to hurt when she tried to make out the details of his face. She saw a bearded jaw moving, but still heard nothing. In panic she tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness broke over her and she slumped back in agony, feeling tears fall freely

from her eyes in a way they had not since childhood.

The priest placed his hands on her shoulders to indicate she should keep still before gently lifting her head and putting a sodden cloth to her mouth. A few wonderfully sweet drops of water trickled into her mouth and Legana summoned all her remaining strength to swallow them. He squeezed the cloth and a little more appeared on her tongue — somehow she foughtthose down as well, but that was all she could manage. She sagged onto his cradling hand.

The priest nodded approvingly and put the cloth out of sight before placing a hand on her chest. His lips began to move and Legana's blurred vision swam as a warmth began to spread over her body. The sensation was alien and alarming, but something inside her recognised it as healing magic. The part of her that was touched by a Goddess screamed in fear at another God's magic, but the human side overruled it and as she sank back into unconsciousness, the pain faded far enough into the background for sleep to claim her. A few moments later she felt nothing at all.

A steady rain was falling on Byora's granite buildings, streaking walls with dark tears and filling the gutters with a swift stream of dirty water. The Duchess of Byora ignored the patter of water on her hood and watched the rain fall for ten minutes or more instead of touching her heels to the horse's flanks and setting off down the street.

'This rain will cool tempers, don't you think, Sir Arite?' she said at last.

The blond man only gave a perfunctory nod in response. He looked more concerned by the effect the rain was having on his boots than the state of the city beyond. The duke smiled amiably at his wife, doing a reasonable job of concealing his anxiety to everyone but Natai, the person he was trying most to encourage. She returned the smile, glad of the effort he was making, however transparent. He was the only one who hadn't tried to dissuade her from this journey, the only one to look beyond his own safety and see the necessity.

'This was the first time the duchess had ventured out of her palace.since the news of the terrible happenings in the religious district had come in the previous morning. That there were reportedly mobs of penitents roaming the city was not her concern; she would not let them cow her. Above her the Ruby Tower looked forbidding in the overcast morning light. The stepped levels of the tower were adorned with shards of red slate, designed for the light of a summer evening. Now it merely served to highlight the grimness of the black mountain walls behind it.

'Captain Fohl?' Natai said to the commander of her guard, 'lead the way, if you please.'

The captain saluted, while behind him the new sergeant didn't bother to wait for the order as he started off, two squads of her guards falling in behind his horse. Natai felt a flicker of amusement at Fohl's expression when he saw the men were already moving, his Adam's apple bobbing as a rebuke went unsaid.

The captain was neatly turned out as ever, but today he looked comical to her, with his pale hair poking limply out from his gold-trimmed helm and pallid skin stretched over a weak face. Compared with the muscular bulk of Sergeant Kayel, Fohl looked fragile, almost pathetic.

It was reassuring to see Kayel at the head of her guards as they moved towards Hale. The man was a born leader — and more than a little intimidating. Natai knew that Fohl was easily offended, and would have had any other sergeant whipped for the impudence Kayel showed, but even the arrogance of pure Litse blood couldn't overshadow the fact that Fohl was simply afraid of the man.

It was Prayerday morning, the day for High Reverence at the temples, and the duke and duchess had established a tradition of attending prayers at the temples of both Ushull and Death long ago. Now the eyes of the city would be watching them. The situation had not improved, and Natai knew it would take more than rain to change that — even the savage deluges that regularly scoured Byora's streets — but she refused to hide from her people.

Hale was reportedly a boiling ant's nest of activity and tension, a situation not helped by the fact that a band of penitents had decided to search two of her agents. The men had been carrying weapons, of course, and they had decided to flee rather than be arrested for impiety. A mob had stoned them to death and now their heads were on display at a crossroads Natai had to pass to reach the Temple of Death.

At her command the whole column of nobles and troops set out, Sergeant Kayel setting a brisk pace from the front with one hand resting on the hilt of his sword and his head constantly turning to scan the surrounding street. The duchess saw a range of reactions from the people they clattered past. Some scurried into their homes and barred the door while others began to follow the soldiers behind her. Natai felt a moment of irritation; she couldn't see their faces as they followed.

'Ganas,' she called to her husband, and he immediately urged his horse closer and leaned over to better hear her. His ceremonial uniform and sword echoed those of the Ruby Tower Guards — prettier, but no less functional.

'Do you think they're following just to see a fight, or are they on our side?' she asked softly.

When he shrugged she heard the clink of hidden metal. Most of her subjects assumed Ganas was simple, weak-minded even, because she ruled Byora rather than he. The Litse couldn't comprehend his lack of ambition, any more than the foolish women from the White Circle had not accepted that she didn't struggle against a husband's oppression. She was simply better at ruling than he was, and few people gave him the credit for acknowledging that and accepting it. Few men were strong enough to do such a thing. They were a good team.

'Given the choice, they'll pick us,' he said in the mellifluous accent of the city, 'but I doubt many will follow us into Hale. Too dangerous.'

Sure enough, as they reached the religious district their escort hung back and watched nervously. There were three gates into Hale: two spanning the two largest roads from Eight Towers, where the well-off citizens lived in the shadow of the Ruby Tower, and a third in the wall separating Hale from Breakale, where the majority of the citizens lived.

The Queen's Gate was the one she commonly used on Prayerday, following the road around in a long loop to visit the temples of Ushull, Death and Belarannar before a last quick prayer at Kitar's temple that was her own small tradition, one that had continued long after she'd given up hoping the Goddess of Fertility would answer her prayers.

If the onlookers had been hoping for drama at the first confrontation, they were sorely disappointed. A dozen or so penitents

were waiting by the gate, but Kayel completely ignored their efforts to block the path. Clearly they were hoping to get in the way and force the guards to either strike first or back down, but Kayel urged his horse on, oblivious to their presence, and the men had to jump out of the way or be trampled.

Once inside the district, Natai forced herself not to stare around at the faces watching them, but she felt a small nicker of fear when she realised how many grey-clad penitents of Death were congregated on the streets — and they weren't the only ones. Hale was a community in its own right, a small, self-contained town perched on a ledge of high ground some two-thirds of a mile across. Not all of the inhabitants were clerics, but they were all connected to the business of worship, and if Natai was being blamed for High Priest Lier's death, they would all side against her.

'Ushull, Tsatach, Nartis, Belarannar, Hit — most of the major cults have been recruiting,' Ganas commented so softly only Natai could hear. 'Let us be glad the Temple of Karkarn here is too small to be of any real significance.'

She nodded and kept her eyes on the road, her unease growing with every passing minute. Threatening groups of hooded figures stood and watched them from the side-streets, some actually following the horses closely enough to provoke disquiet. The silence that followed her party as they continued into Hale was profound.

It reminded Natai of a dream she'd had as a child: surrounded by faceless figures as motionless as statues, the clouds racing past above them, while the leader of her tormentors, a giant swathed in white, pointed an accusing finger at her. No matter which direction she faced, she couldn't escape the weight of that gesture. Now, with the clerics and their mercenaries watching her, Natai felt a similar oppression. The journey to the Temple of Ushull was a brief one, but to Natai it seemed to take an hour or more.

Like many of Ushull's temples this one was open to the elements, but the builders had clearly tried to evoke Blackfang Mountain here, putting a thirty-foot-tall obelisk studded with crystal and obsidian shards in the middle of the oval temple, pushing up through the upper level, which in turn was supported by four great pillars that signified the quarters of the Circle City — Byora, Akell, Fortin and Ismess. Ushull was technically an Aspect of Belarannar, and as a result, the temple was exactly a foot smaller than the Temple of Belarannar in length, width and height.

Tradition dictated that Natai should kneel below the steady drip of the shrine dedicated to Kiyer of the Deluge first, letting water splash onto her forehead before offering a silver level and a prayer for another week without a flood.

Afterwards she would place a freshly picked flower before the shrine at the other end of the upper level, a gift to Parss, Ushull's capricious child, who casts boulders down the slopes. The last of Ushull's three Aspects had his shrine on the lower level, a squat lair made out of clay which was kept as hot as a baker's oven. There she would need to add another lump of coal to the fire to appease Cambrey Smoulder, the dormant destroyer under the mountain. That done, she would speak a prayer with one palm placed against Ushull's obelisk and leave a second silver level while Ushull's priests maintained the drone of prayer from their aisles opposite Cambrey's shrine.

Before Natai reached the temple she saw Kayel, who had gone ahead, had been stopped by a party of animated priests. There were faces watching them all around, most ominously from the temple itself, where no one was engaged in worship as far as Natai could see. The wind had been growing stronger during their journey and now it whipped across the district with an impatient ferocity, drowning out the conversation ahead. All around her Natai felt and saw a burning resentment; anger smouldered like Cambrey deep under the mountain.

Cambrey or Kiyer? she wondered as the column of troops stopped and her guards at last faced the penitents on all sides. Cambrey grumbles and blusters, but is slow to anger; Kiyer strikes with the fury and speed of an ice'Cobra.

As though in answer to her question a boom of thunder rolled over the city, the distant rumble that all Byorans had grown up listening out for. For a moment, all faces turned east, towards the mountain.

Natai shivered instinctively. Blackfang was not a flat table-top, as most imagined, but a crazed mess of jagged rock and stagnant pools left by the rain. A storm might simply provide a soaking — or it might turn the uninhabitable wasteland of Blackfang into something entirely more frightening. When the rains were heavy enough, a torrent of water would sweep down, scouring the streets of everything as Kiyer of the Deluge claimed her sacrifices and dumped their remains in the fens a few miles past Wheel, the quarter's most westerly district.

A sudden flash of movement made her turn back. She heard Ganas grunt in surprise and stare up at the mountain with a puzzled look on his face. Captain Fohl said something, but the words were jumbled and confused. Unbidden, her horse turned away from Ganas and a sudden pressure closed about her chest and throat, squeezing the breath from her body.

Unable to move, unable to speak, Natai sat rigid and horrified as Ganas slid unceremoniously from his saddle and to the ground, one foot still hooked in the stirrup. A black-fletched arrow protruding from his back snapped as Ganas fell onto it. Natai stared down at her husband's contorted face in disbelief, paralysed by the sight as the Land exploded into movement around her.

Figures ran forward, a hand grabbed her reins and wrenched her horse around until the beast kicked out. Men yelled and swore on all sides, swords rasped from scabbards. Captain Fohl barged his horse into hers, barely raising his shield in time as another arrow thwacked into it. She saw Sergeant Kayel draw and strike in one movement, turning back towards her before the priest's corpse had even hit the ground.

The ground started shaking, reverberating up through her horse's body and into her own. Before Natai even realised what was hap-pening, her horse gave a shriek and staggered. Beside her, Fohl slashed down at someone just as a spear appeared from nowhere to catch him in the ribs with such force he was thrown from his saddle, crashing into her horse before he fell under its hooves.

She couldn't look down as her horse reared up. Everything lurched, and the cloud-covered sky seemed to reach out to her as Natai herself begin to fall-

Suddenly something smacked into her forearm and wrenched her forward. The sky wheeled and became a dark blur of buildings as the pressure on her arm increased, wrapped around it and wrenched her forward. Natai felt herself crash against the ground and almost bounce up with the impact. Her arm was almost torn from its socket as whatever was hanging onto her dragged her along, her feet flailing uselessly beneath her.

She heard a grunt of exertion as she was swung up and landed heavily on something, the wind driven from her like a punch to the gut. She was lying over a saddle. Now she recognised Kayel shouting above her; short, brutal words she couldn't make out. Something clattered hard into her leg and fell away, and she felt Kayel lean over her body to hack down with his sword. There was the wet crunch of flesh and bone parting. Screams and roars came from all directions, but her eyes and ears refused to make sense of them.

Kayel's voice and the hot stink of the horse were the only things she could recognise, until suddenly the uproar was behind them and she realised they were clear; they were safe. Only then did her mind catch up and the sight of Ganas falling returned, bright and vivid, and as sharp as a knife in her belly. When at last the soldier stopped and allowed her to slide from the saddle Natai didn't feel the hands trying to help her to her feet. The buzz of voices came only distantly: questions, shouts, orders, all meaningless in the face of that pain in her gut. She crumpled to her bloodied knees and puked, and again, but the agony of loss remained.

High Priest Antil paused at the doorway of his personal chamber, peering around the jamb and feeling foolish as he did so. While he was Shotir's chief cleric, the God of Healing's temple in Byora was a modest one, and his room was appropriately small. Normally a wide window covering half of the north wall provided most of the room's light, but since his patient's dramatic arrival, that was covered in sacking. There was a tiny window in the side was which admitted a little pale winter sunlight, but Antil had still brought a candle.

Stop being such a fool, he chided himself, she's your patient, for pity's sake! The remonstrations had little effect. He still felt like he was intruding. He glanced behind him to check no priests or novices were watching him, but there was no one. People rarely came up to the top floor of the temple; they knew this was his personal space, where he could get his thoughts back in order and rest after working in the hospital below.

Antil was a middle-aged man of average height, with thinning hair and somewhat thick around the waist — a professional hazard for Priests of Shotir, those who could heal at least. Magical healing produced a fierce hunger, and only Antil's vanity had kept that in check. Unlike most of his order, his belly was a modest bulge under his yellow robes, and a tidy beard hid his fleshy neck. There was nothing he could do about the worry lines.

He forced himself to enter the chamber, and once over the threshold habit reasserted itself. She was very sensitive to light, so he walked around the bed and crouched at her side. She wasn't asleep; he could sense her wariness, like a wounded animal, and he was careful not to touch her yet. However badly hurt she might be, she was still touched by a Goddess, and he didn't want to do anything to provoke alarm in her. Instead he just sat awhile and looked at her face, fascinated by the mystery she presented.

With a tiny whimper the woman turned her head to look at him and he saw those curious eyes focus on him. They were dark green, possessing an inner light that reminded Antil of the jade ring his mother had worn until the day she died. The woman's face was bruised and covered in splinter-scratches, but the swelling had already gone down. He realised she would be arrestingly beautiful once the discolouration faded.

'Well, my girl, and how do you feel this morning?' he asked gently, not expecting a response. His ability with magic was as unremarkable as he, and healing was the only skill he'd ever worked on, but his latent senses recognised enough to be worried by her. The one-sided conversation was principally for his. own benefit, helping him maintain a normal train of thought so he could focus on his healing — not that he'd been able to do much yet, partly because the divine spark in her was far stronger than a priest's, and resisted Shotir's workings, but also because replacing the ruined was beyond mortal skills.

Antil let a trickle of warm energy run into her body to sooth her, stroking her hand until she stopped fighting it. Once the fear was gone he pulled the blanket covering her down a little, but the mark was still there, as he'd expected.

'Damn,' he said, scratching at his beard and frowning. Around her throat was a clear hand-print of greyish shadow. The skin itself was not damaged, just tinted — as though an ash-covered hand had grabbed her — except it would not wash off.

'Someone's marked you,' he told her, 'you who have been touched by a Goddess as profoundly as one Chosen. They grabbed you and they beat you senseless. They broke your leg, a shoulder, an arm, ribs, a bone in your neck — and their very touch was enough to leave a permanent mark on your skin.'

He shivered. It wasn't the only strange aspect of her neck: running his finger over it he could feel a series of lumps, for all the world like a necklace under her skin — and what magic he had been able to work had confirmed that was exactly what it was: a necklace she had been wearing had been driven completely into her flesh.

'That's not even the worst,' he continued, looking down at the hand-print thoughtfully. 'We all felt it, what happened in Alterr's chamber. Every priest in Hale felt something terrible. Folk are saying a God died… but I wonder if it was not a Goddess?'

He found a cloth and almost mechanically began to wipe her face.

'I went to the Temple of the Lady. It's shut; the priestesses have not been seen outside the walls. Hale is in chaos, so no one else has really noticed yet, but that will change soon enough.'

He removed the blanket covering her body and stared down at her body. A small wrap protected her modesty for form's sake, though the sheer number of bandages and wrappings meant almost half her total skin surface was covered. He saw to each one in turn, humming the mantras of healing as he worked. Without channelling magic they would do little, but the familiar sound was better than silence.

It was clear that she was healing supernaturally well. Antil was not so vain as to believe it was down to him. Perhaps I helped a little, he conceded, but no more than that. When he touched her tightly splinted leg the woman moaned and tried to reach out, but the effort of sitting up defeated her. She sank back down, her eyes rolling up as her lips moved fractionally. He placed his hands on her chest and channelled magic into her body, not focusing on knitting bone or flesh, which she would manage on her own, but on blanking out the pain. That at least he could manage: her mind was still human, and a mind could be fooled into ignoring pain, even if the substance of her body resisted any efforts beyond that.

After a minute he stopped to catch his breath, feeling like an old man. He'd left a small bag of willow bark pieces by her bedside. He picked it up and fumbled stiff-fingered with the tie for a moment before managing to get it open. As he did so the sacking nailed over the window fluttered under a rogue gust of wind and the movement caused him to flinch, dropping the little bag. But somehow his patient's hand had slipped off the bed and instead of hitting the floor, the tie of the bag snagged on her fingers.

Antil looked down. Her eyes were closed, her expression one of restless sleep. There was no sign she'd even noticed what had happened.

'Good catch,' Antil muttered with a puzzled frown, 'or should I perhaps say lucky catch?'

He didn't know whether to wince or smile at that thought; luck was a fickle mistress — if the expression could endure after the Lady herself was dead. It would not be long before the bands of penitents began to ask earnest questions about the damage to the window. He had explained it away as a thrown fragment of stone from the explosion that had obliterated Alterr's temple, but sooner or later someone would realise that was peculiar.

'What are you in all this?' he wondered, running his fingers down her arm, feeling how hot her skin was. 'If you were there with the Lady, how is it you survived and she did not? A servant cannot be stronger than the God — did she believe you important enough to save at the expense of her own life?'

Antil shivered again. The idea that an immortal would do that was ludicrous, but it was the only answer he'd come up with so far.

'My vow means I must protect the injured, even if the penitents of Death try to take you,' he said, resolved to do his duty, 'but if it's true the Lady saved you for a reason, you may not need that protection longer than a few days.' He took the cloth and trickled a little more water onto her lips. This time they parted eagerly to accept it. 'Let us hope whatever did this to you doesn't come looking, for if that happens you'll need more than my vow, I think.'

Ilumene looked up at the cloudy sky and tried to discern the position of the sun. It didn't do him much good; the western horizon showed nothing more than an overall glow, but it was a more cheering sight than the east, where an ugly swell of grey crowded the jagged mountain cliffs. His instincts told him that it was not quite mid-morning — after a fight, perceived time raced along, in his experience, fuelled by adrenalin and panic.

Without warning a voice spoke into his mind. 'They're coming.' 'Aracnan?' he thought after a moment of confusion. The only being to speak to him like that in the past had been Azaer and that had not happened since the fall of Scree. 'What about the storm on the mountain?'

'They ignore it. The floods do not come with every storm, only once or twice each season, but 1 have done what I can to draw more power to the clouds. Kiyer of the Deluge is coming, but not before the penitents; look to your left.'

Ilumene did as he was told. For a moment he saw nothing, then a jerking movement caught his eye. On the roof of a building attached to the inside of the wall he saw a small hunched shape, no bigger than a child. It was difficult to make it out clearly for the colours of its body seemed to shift, adopting the lichen-spotted hues of the wall behind.

The creature seemed to feel his gaze upon it and turned its head towards him. The curious shape to its body was suddenly revealed as a dozen sets of tiny wings down the length of its back and arms started flapping. The pattern-less flutter increased in speed until the creature's body was almost completely hidden by a blur, whereupon the flapping stopped abruptly, leaving nothing behind. Ilumene blinked in surprise. It had gone — not flown away but disappeared.

'An Aspect? They called an Aspect to incarnate here and probe our defences?'

'Exactly so,' Aracnan replied. 'Your mages are on edge, they reveal themselves by their raised defences. The priests now know how many you have, and they will not fear marching on you.'

'But the deluge will cut off their escape,' Ilumene said out loud, a cruel grin appearing on his face. 'Hard luck for them. Go and watch over the master until it is time to act.' He wiped the smirk from his lips and looked over at Major Feilin, who acknowledged him and trotted over.

'Sergeant Kayel?' Feilin was a decent soldier, if lacking somewhat in personal bravery. He walked with a slight limp, Ilumene had noted with satisfaction. Feilin might have been in charge of the compound's defence, but Ilumene made it clear who was top dog two days before. Feilin gave the orders still — once Ilumene decided what they were to be. His approach might not have worked on a nobleman who had arrogance and pride to contend with, but everyone in the Ruby Tower knew Major Feilin had been born to a cook and had lived his whole life in service here. The man had seen enough bullies in his life to know when he had no chance; Ilumene hadn't needed to push matters.

'Major,' he said, saluting for the benefit of anyone watching, 'everything in place?'

'They are, but I'm far from happy about leaving the compound open to attack — it's a big risk to take.'

Ilumene had suggested the gates be left open and a fair number of the men sent out into the city. Kiyer's flood notwithstanding, Ilumene didn't want the people to feel abandoned by their secular rulers. Over the years the city's streets had been built so floodwater could be safely diverted away. He was confident the battle would follow Azaer's script and be short-lived. What was far more import' ant was the perception people in Breakale, Wheel and Burn would have of this day — in preparation for the day they were forced to choose sides.

'What if they slaughter the garrison?' the major asked.

'They won't,' Ilumene said confidently. He looked around at the figures on the wall and congregated in the compound's yard. He'd dressed every suitable servant in uniform and set some to manning the walls while the rest were ordered to wander around looking aimless while the main complement of Ruby Tower Guards were hidden away or disguised as servants, with their weapons well hidden.

'They'll want to see the duchess's body before they do anything else. Go out there and meet them under a flag of truce and have the guards surrender. The mercenaries they've employed will still be thinking clearly, even if the priests can't, so they will be wary. We keep clear of the gates and don't try to shut them.' He pointed towards the largest group of real soldiers. 'Move them to the other side of the compound, away from the gates.'

'But if we let them all into the compound we'll be outnumbered,' Feilin pointed out, still looking unhappy. 'Surely that's why we're trying this ruse in the first place?' Like many of his fellow soldiers of Litse blood, he had pale skin and fair hair, which made him look ashen in his deep crimson uniform.

'If you don't move them, it'll be too obvious that we're ready for them — unless you've got a company of white-eyes I don't know about?' Ilumene's sharp tone was enough to provoke a look of slight fear on Feilin's face. He shifted uncomfortably, as though the bruises he still bore had started to ache again.

'No, of course not.'

'Then we give them somewhere to retreat to. The gate's a bottleneck — and we might even get lucky with the fioodwater.'

At the mention of Kiyer's Deluge Feilin glanced nervously at the cliffs looming large behind the Ruby Tower. The thunder had abated, but the clouds above Blackfang were darker than ever.

'I think they'll stay and fight.'

'Fine by me. They'll be met on three sides in that case.'

'What about the mages? Surely they'll have far more than we do?'

Ilumene nodded; Major Feilin had made a good point — under any normal circumstances. They might not have anyone to rival Mage Peness, but with the assembled mages of every cult in Byora to call on they had the weight of numbers on their side.

'Peness, Jelil and Bissen won't be able to fight them all, no,' he agreed.

'So what is your plan?'

'My plan, sir?' Ilumene said with a wolfish look. 'Oh no, not my plan, yours. I have just taken the liberty of anticipating your orders. The three mages are positioned in one of the eastern rooms in the tower. Most battle-mages need to be able to see their enemy to do anything really nasty.'

'So what use are they going to be on the wrong side of the tower?' the major asked, bemused, still trying desperately to understand what his subordinate had in mind.

'They're going to be cowering; far enough away that the priests won't have any reason to suspect a trap.' Ilumene turned and pointed at the tower. It was an enormous building, not as tall as the Tower of Semar in Tirah, but far wider. The tower was hexagonal in shape and built in steps, the lowest being the size of a palace itself, with walls thicker than those of most castles, to support the weight of the tower above. 'The Duchess Chamber,' he said. 'I heard it was changed, years back.'

'The last duke remodelled it, what, twenty years ago, perhaps?' Feilin said, still completely mystified.

'He put in all those pillars and a hallway, so the main entrance didn't lead straight in?'

'Yes, but so what?'

'So all that work's not structural,' Ilumene said. 'We can bring it down — and the rest of the tower will still stand.'

'But-' Feilin began before cutting himself off. 'Merciful Gods!'

'Hah, they ain't showing much mercy these days, so I reckon we should return the favour,' Ilumene said with feeling. 'They'll have dozens of priests, all with only weak magic; an Aspect-Guide ain't as good as a mage's daemon. Maybe someone like Mage Peness has the strength and speed to do something about a roof falling in on him, but none of them will.'

'And they'll be confident Peness won't oppose them,' said Feilin softly.

'Aye, before they even walk through those gates they'll know whether we can match that strength or not. When they realise we can't, they'll relax. Priests ain't got a soldier's instincts; their penitents won't be able to stop them in time.'

Natai blinked, suddenly awakening, and looked around. Two anxious faces stared back, the dark-haired Lady Kinna and Jeto, Natai's steward. From the look on their faces she'd been out of it for longer than she'd realised — Jeto could be as fussy as a dowager duchess at times, but Kinna was as ambitious and heartless as any Litse noblewoman.

'Your Grace?' said Lady Kinna cautiously. She'd been the only one of Natai's close circle to come straight to the Ruby Tower when she heard what had happened in Hale. For all her youth, she's a sharp one, Qanas always said-

The thought went no further as a spasm ran through her body. Natai felt her hand begin to tremble and had to clasp it tight with the other. Strange. My body understands my grief when my mind cannot quite accept it.

She looked down at her hand. One of her rings was missing a stone, and a graze three inches long ran from the knuckle beside it down the back of her hand, tracing the path of the missing gem.

It was a ruby, she recalled, a ruby spilled with blood — who will find that? One of their mercenaries? Not a priest, their heads are raised too high now. Perhaps a pilgrim, come to pray- No; not after this. The temples will be closed until the ground is hallowed again. While these murderers live, Hale is not sacred.

She went to the window, unable to bear the sight of the door to her chamber. Catching sight of it out of the corner of her eye was enough to make her hope her husband was about to walk through.

'Kinna, is there-V Her voice wavered and caught, and she stopped, unable to continue. She hugged her arms around her body, ignoring the pain it provoked, the hot* heavy feeling of a badly bruised shoulder and the sharp throb where skin had been cut.

'There… No, your Grace,' came the hesitant reply. 'Nor of Sir Arite. Major Feilin has said he cannot send anyone out for information, not when we're trying to look as if we are beaten.'

Natai didn't speak. That there was a battle coming didn't appear to matter. She was exhausted, her body screaming for sleep, but her mind refused.

Sergeant Kayel seems to thrive on conflict; he looks as alive now as when he was fighting my guards. Do 1 envy or pity him? she wondered.

Perhaps she would seek Ruhen out and lose herself in those bewitching eyes… No, she could not, for Kayel had carried her as if she were dead, up to her rooms high in the tower, careful to let others see the blood leak from her head and drip onto the stairs.

So much blood from such a small wound. A little goes a long way, isn't that what Mother was so fond of saying? A woman who'd been denied little in her life; who'd never known loss…

The window afforded an unparallelled view of Byora. With its back turned on the oppressive bulk of Blackfang's cliffs, the Ruby Tower looked down on the rest of the Land. Before it was spread a carpet of humanity and industry, run through by the thick veins that might soon be rushing with murky, murderous floodwaters. Rain was falling heavily on the city; Natai could not see much of Byora through the slanted slashes of water.

'Your Grace, please let me fetch you a seat,' Lady Kinna urged. 'You're hurt and in shock; your wounds need tending.'

Natai waved the woman's protests away. The sting from her dozen small hurts wrapped her better than any bandage could. The pain took her away from the horrors of the day. Her torn and damp clothes meant nothing; changing them would change nothing.

The view had once thrilled her, as a little girl she'd been content to spend hour after hour staring out of the window at the city

beyond. Now it merely echoed the numb emptiness in her stomach. What she saw was distant and blurred, not quite real.

Again her thoughts turned to Ruhen and the child's calming effect, but then she remembered Kinna, who was continually spoiling Natai's little prince, trying to steal his affections away. During every council meeting held in the Ruby Tower, at every formal court conducted in the Duchess's Chamber, the woman would find some excuse to hold Ruhen and fuss over him, running her fingers through his soft, sooty-brown hair, delighting in his every sound.

'I still cannot believe all of this,' Lady Kinna said suddenly, 'that the clerics would even attempt this. It beggars belief.'

Natai let the woman chatter on; it was preferable to lonely silence. Gripping her hand tight enough to turn her knuckles white, Natai looked down at the open gate where she could make out the solitary figure of Major Feilin, loitering uneasily.

'They cannot believe the city will stand for it; the duke was a beloved and humble man,' she went on. 'The arrogance of the clerics has grown out of all proportion.'

'They do not think,' Natai said dully. 'They have lost all reason. The temples are places of madness now; we must close them until sense returns. We will quarantine them so the people are not infected by this evil.'

'A quarantine?' Lady Kinna asked. 'Yes, of course, I will see it is done. The infection must be purged. The people will be glad; they are unsettled by the fury and hatred being preached.'

'Better they look to Ruhen than seek answers in the temples,' Natai said with sudden vehemence. 'In his eyes you will find peace, in the temples there is only madness.' She stopped suddenly as she saw sudden activity in the street below.

'Look, here they come.'

A column of dark shapes, men huddled against the rain, trotted with surprising speed towards the main gate. A number split off and went in different directions, forming up in neat lines across the alleys and avenues that adjoined the main street.

Lady Kinna gave a tiny gasp, then straightened her shoulders. She would be strong. The duchess focused on the gate. Yes, the penitents had reached it, and knocked Major Feilin down. They hadn't waited but streamed past and over him. She couldn't tell whether he lived or not; all she could do was hope that in their haste the flood of men surging into the courtyard had left him alive. Her servants, wearing the uniform of Ruby Tower Guardsmen, were gathered in a sullen, frightened clump on the right. The penitents did not hesitate but headed straight for the pretend soldiers, knocking many down and stripping their weapons with brutal efficiency. She could imagine the angry shouts and commands. They would be forced to their knees and one or two killed as an example perhaps…

Natai found herself holding her breath, waiting for Sergeant Kayel to appear. The mercenaries continued to stream into the courtyard, scores of men, a hundred, two hundred, all desperate to be off the rain-soaked street for fear of Ushull's savage daughter, Kiyer of the Deluge. Finally knots of robed priests followed. Though she strained to see, the tower was too high for her to make out any of the faces.

'How many of them do I know?' she murmured softly, leaning forward. 'How many have laid blessings on my head?'

'Your Grace, don't stand so close to the window,' Lady Kinna said with alarm. 'They must not be able to recognise you.'

'It is too far, they will see nothing.'

'What if they use magic?'

'They don't have the strength. Peness would be able to do so, but there is not one cleric in Byora who approaches his skill.'

As the soldiers continued to enter, a distant voice in Natai's head told her she should be afraid, that there were so many her guards would not be able to hold them, but the emotion would not come.

'Look,' Lady Kinna said, pointing, 'Materse Avenue!'

Natai followed the direction of Kinna's finger and saw the first rush of water down one of the main avenues, around the left-hand side of the compound. The soldiers still on the street abandoned alI pretence of discipline and ran sloshing away from the water. One tripped and had to struggle up on his own as none of his comrades stopped to help him. In less than a minute, Natai knew, the flood would crash down the streets on either side of her compound, channelled down the four long streets of Eight Towers that had been designed to carry away the worst of the floods. Kiyer would still claim victims, she always did, but the losses would be fewer now the city had been designed to allow her passage.

Somewhere down below the message was passed to the soldiers, and the rest piled inside the compound wall. They left a respectful gap around the priests who were standing in the centre of the compound, facing the grand entrance to the tower. For a moment she couldn't see what they were looking at, until a figure lurched out towards them. Sergeant Kayel was walking none too steadily. He carried something in his hand. A club? No, a clay bottle.

Natai heard Lady Kinna gasp. He really has no fear of these priests, she realised. Neither fear — nor respect.

Kayel took a moment to return the stares he received, then lurched around and headed back inside. She knew they would follow him, and as he disappeared from view again, Natai turned for the door, throat dry and heart pounding. She ignored the urgent voice of Lady Kinna behind her. She could picture the ceiling collapsing down on their heads, snapping their withered bones like twigs, cutting off their cries like lambs in the slaughterhouse. The memory of Ganas falling, slowly, so slowly, made her stumble, but she caught herself in time and fought her way forward — down the corridor and the series of short staircases that would take her to the gallery where she could look down upon her vacant throne.

She could hear the tramp of boots starting on the stairs further down, but she went on regardless. The floors in between were the largest, with dozens of rooms each; they wouldn't reach her before the roof fell in and they raced back to find their leaders dead. With Lady Kinna following close behind, the Duchess of Byora ran through the deserted corridors to Erwillen's Landing, named by one of her ancestors out of misplaced piety for the shrine to the High Hunter, an Aspect of Vellern, he had built there — he stationed archers in it to pick off supposed assassins.

The landing, painted with garish murals, was positioned immediately above the main entrance to the Ruby Tower. Tall windows looked over the entrance and down into the Duchess Chamber. The hanging shrine was suspended from the ceiling: a wrought-iron frame from which dangled a mass of feathers, brightly coloured ribbons and small icons bearing Erwillen's image.

As she passed, the items trembled and she stopped to look at them. The colours were faded and weak. Natai touched the nearest feather lightly and it crumbled under her finger. She stared at the ash-like remains that fell into her palm for a moment before grabbing one of the painted wooden icons and crushing it in one hand as easily as if it were paper.

'You're dead. This shrine is drained and empty. This is only the first of many in Byora,' Natai promised.

Looking down into the Duchess Chamber, all she saw was her vacant throne. The fixed stone seat, large enough for a child to sit comfortably beside Byora's ruler, was set on apedestal. There was a tall wooden frame behind, painted with the city's livery. The scene was as still as a painting — until Sergeant Kayel staggered into sight and began to follow a meandering path towards a door behind the throne. Two penitents in black-painted mail followed briskly behind. They caught him with ease, one dodging a drunkenly swung bottle as the other cracked a club over Kayel's head. The big soldier dropped to one knee with a grunt.

The Duchess of Byora felt her breath catch as the echo of footsteps came from somewhere below her. She could picture men hanging back, nervously watching the soldiers deal with Kayel before entering. The copper tang of blood appeared in her mouth and she realised she'd bitten her lip in anticipation, but before she could wipe it away a great creak rang out and the floor beneath her feet shuddered. Natai grabbed the windowsill to steady herself as the groan and crack of tortured brickwork intensified. She chanced another look down at the chamber. The two penitents were staring back in horror; even Kayel seemed momentarily frozen as the antechamber shuddered violently.

Natai froze. Kayel and the soldiers were not the only people in the chamber. She felt a scream bubble up in her throat, but fear drove the air from her lungs as a small figure toddled out from behind the throne, heading towards Kayel as something below her fell and shattered on the tiled antechamber floor. It was followed in the next moment by an almighty crash that reverberated through her body as the antechamber itself collapsed.

The violence of the shockwave drove Natai to her knees. A cloud of dust billowed out into the ducal chamber as she hauled herself forward to look out of the window again and through it she glimpsed Kayel lunging at one of the penitents. He kicked the back of the man's legs and punched him in the throat as he fell, but the second was quick and lashed out with his club, sending Kayel sprawling. Natai went white as Ruhen tottered in between them, but the penitent didn't follow up his attack.

Natai couldn't see the enigmatic smile on the child's face, but with arms held out wide for balance, Ruhen advanced towards the penitent with unsteady steps, perfectly unafraid. Natai couldn't see the" man's expression, but she felt the sudden warmth of Ruhen's beatific smile. He didn't move, not even when Sergeant Kayel pulled himself to his feet and threw his sword like a throwing knife. The tip caught the penitent in the neck and felled him.

Before the sergeant could retrieve his weapon, an invisible hand seemed to slap him backwards. Natai could just make out the astonishment on Kayel's face as a second blow threw him several yards back. Ruhen turned to follow his protector as two figures staggered into view from the ruin of the ante-chamber, shaking the dust from their robes and advancing unsteadily towards the child.

Fear lent strength to Natai's limbs and restored her voice. With a shriek the duchess ran for the stair, kicking off her slippers but still barely keeping from breaking her neck as she descended. When she reached the room she found the two priests standing over Ruhen. The little boy was staring up at them, completely unafraid.

One of the men saw her and took a step backwards, looking shocked. She recognised the young man, even with his face twisted in hate — he was normally to be found standing quietly in the background at the Temple of Ushull. He raised his hand and she heard a strange noise, as if something was sucking air in. A coiling stream of energy began to form around the mage.

Natai, oblivious to the danger to herself, raced towards them and threw herself in front of the child, shrieking, 'You will not hurt him!'

'Filthy heretics,' spat the other priest, a fat-cheeked man with white hair dressed in the distinctive scarlet robes of Karkarn. He was cradling his right arm but she could see sparks of red light dancing over his skin; he was still dangerous.

'You will all die for this crime,' he said.

'No,' said a quiet voice in her mind. She shivered, and looked at the priests. She saw in their faces that they had felt it too. She turned, but Kayel was still lying on the ground.

She felt as if she were frozen to the spot, unable to move any part of her body apart from her head — and it looked like the priests were similarly stricken. Only Ruhen appeared unaffected — and he was the only one not looking around for whoever had spoken.

With a calm smile on his face and a fistful of Natai's dress bunched in his plump little hand to support himself, the little boy slowly made his way around her. He looked up at the priest of Karkarn, whose face was illuminated by the weird light of magic as he muttered an incantation. He faltered for a moment, then the hatred reasserted itself and he drew in deeply, the light intensifying.

Natai tried to reach out to Ruhen, but her limbs would not respond and all she could do was watch as the child reached out a hand and waggled his stubby little fingers towards the priest — but his little wave seemed to strike the priest like a blow and the trails of magical lights vanished. He gave a strangled squawk of shock and dropped to his knees, clutching his heart, before collapsing onto the tiled floor.

The priest of Ushull's astonished expression turned just as swiftly into a paroxysm of pain. He fell just as quickly, one hand protectively around his throat, and twitched and shook on the ground, his mouth stretched wide in a silent scream.

Ruhen was silent as he watched the two men die, though Natai thought she could hear voices whispering all around them. She flinched when the little boy turned to face her, but instead of the horror she had been expecting, Ruhen's face was just the same as ever. His cheeks dimpled suddenly as he gave her a big beaming grin and spread his arms wide, demanding to be carried.

The duchess swept him up in her arms and turned in a circle, glaring at the faces watching them until they all fled, leaving her alone with the boy in her arms and the sergeant, now groggily lifting himself up off the ground and slurring his way through a stream of invective. Natai didn't wait to thank him but, holding Ruhen tight in her arms and breathing in the sweet scent of his hair, she headed back up the stairs, not stopping until she was at the top of the Ruby lower and the whispers were left far behind.

Venn felt his body jerk as a swirl of shadow raced past his eyes. His dry, cracked lips had stuck together, so his waking breath was more of a weak, tuneless whistle, though it was enough to attract the attention of the tall priestess sitting a few yards away. When she saw he was awake she picked up a bowl of soup that had been cooling nearby and walked over to him.

Her face had lost none of the strength he'd first noticed, before she had established herself as his nursemaid. She was a handsome woman, and her looks had not diminished under age's onslaught. She had not yet gone so far as to cast aside the half-mask set with obsidian shards, but he could sense she was close. She saw purpose in him, in every word he spoke. She would be Azaer's fiercest follower, the child's most pitiless defender.

'Even mountains fail in the course of time. Even glaciers melt away to nothing. A gradual decline is irresistible in all things.'

He had abandoned the forms of instruction used by the Harlequins, for they were no longer necessary. He spoke little these days, constantly drained by the effort of keeping two hearts beating, two minds working. Jackdaw was entirely dependent on him to stay alive so Venn could not afford to waste his strength on idle talk.

The priestess knew well how hard speaking had become for him. She crouched at his side, eyes bright as she realised she would be the one to pass on this latest pronouncement. The others would have to sit at her feet and wait for her to speak, for the narcotic tingle of truth rushing through their minds.

'Even the greatest see their time end. To be a parent is to one day be eclipsed, to be shown to be in weakness, in error.'

Venn heard her breath catch, a question bitten off before it could be spoken. She was close enough that he could smell the musky tang of her sweat and sour breath, even over the incense-laden air. She had been waiting for him to wake for half a day, without drinking or eating. He could smell her eagerness.

'Who then,' he said slowly, his own throat dry and raw, 'could chastise the Gods themselves for their failings? Where is that perfect individual, who could raise a hand and censure the very Gods who created him? When our Gods fail us, to whom must we pray for intercession in this life of woe?'