Traitors Gate

3

Don't open the gate.

Those were the last words Nekkar had said to the apprentices before he had slipped out of the temple to get a look at the army that had occupied Toskala eight days ago. Reflecting back on their frightened faces and anxious tears, he knew that leaving them had been a gods-rotted foolish thing to do. He should have stayed in the temple grounds to keep some order in the place. Make sure none of the young ones panicked.

Aui! Too late now to fret over what he couldn't change.

He had reached the front of the line.

A sergeant caressing a long knife finished his interrogation of a thin man, a farmer by the look of his humble knee-length linen jacket and bare legs. 'So you admit you are a refugee, come to Toskala from the country in the last six months?'

'We had to flee our village because of the trouble-'

'No refugees allowed in Toskala. You'll be marched to the gates and released. Return to your village.'

A bored soldier beckoned to Nekkar, a gesture meaning You next.

The farmer didn't budge. 'I've children waiting in the alleys. I have to get them.'

'You should have thought of that before you left your gods-rotted village.' The sergeant nodded, and soldiers grabbed the man by either arm. As he'd done numerous times before, seen by everyone standing in line, the sergeant sliced three shallow cuts into the man's left forearm. 'We cleanse those who sneak back into the city after they've been marked.'

'But they'll starve!' The man's voice rose shrilly as his desperation mounted and the pain of the cuts stung into tears. 'Their mother is dead. We lost track of our clan-'

The soldiers dragged him out by a different door. Aui! The refugees who had flooded into Toskala over the last year had put a strain on the resources of the city and caused a great deal of hard feeling, but to separate a man from his children in such a way was beyond cruel. Yet none dared protest. Soldiers lined the main room; an inn called the Thirsty Saw had been cleared of

customers and set aside for their use. Many more folk besides him waited in line, some wringing their hands or rubbing unmarked forearms, others weeping. Most stood in silent, bitter dread. Eight days ago, on the cusp between the days of Wakened Ox and Transcendent Snake, their good city had been overthrown by treachery and fallen into the hands of thieves and criminals.

The bored soldier's voice sharpened. 'I said, You next.''

Nekkar limped forward.

The sergeant looked him up and down without smile or frown. 'What's your name?'

'I'm called Nekkar.'

'What's your clan?'

'I'm temple-sworn.' As any tupping idiot could see by his blue cloak with its white stripe sewn over each shoulder! Those who wore the blue cloak marking them as servants of Ilu the Herald, patron of travelers and bringer of news, became accustomed to being addressed as 'Holy One.' That the sergeant had not used the customary honorific was a deliberate slight. He swallowed angry words as he glanced uneasily around the chamber. The other detainees, swept up like so much detritus by the soldiers now patrolling Toskala's streets, stared, trying to gauge what questions they might be asked and what answers would serve them best.

'What clan in Toskala marks your kinfolk?' The sergeant's impatience edged his tone. He wore a silver chain from which hung an eight-pointed tin star, a cheap medallion compared with the finely wrought chain likely obtained in the first frenzy of looting.

'Why, no clan in Toskala!' he replied, surprised. 'Why should it? I was sent to Fifth Quarter's temple at sixteen as an apprentice and transferred five years later as an envoy to Stone Quarter's temple. I have lived here in the city the last thirty years, and never regretted one moment of it.' Until today. 'My kin are hill people from the Liya Pass, if you must know, a day's walk from the town of Stragglewood on the Ili Cutoff.'

'I know the place. Go on.'

Faced with the soldier's unrelenting gaze, he cleared his throat nervously and went on. 'Most of my people follow the carters' or woodsmen's trade. Easy to work together, then, you see, cousin hauling logs for cousin. Never had a badge, like they do here in the city. Honest country folk don't.' The sergeant didn't blink at that jab, nor rise to the bait, nor touch his own ugly star badge, if

that was what it was. 'I haven't been back there for over twenty years. My life is here in the city now.'

'What clan?' the sergeant repeated.

He wiped sweat from his brow with a hand made grimy when the soldiers who had cornered him had shoved him to the ground. His wrist hurt, and his twisted ankle was swelling. 'Tumble Creek lands, mostly. Some granddaughter branches that range the roads and paths, as carters do. We're a daughter branch long split from the Green Sun, call ourselves Tumble Sun, if you must know.'

The sergeant blinked, as if the names meant something to him.

Dread opened its maw and swallowed Nekkar in one gulp. He had the horrible feeling he had just betrayed his entire clan, who had never done one wrong thing to him even for all he had been thrilled to leave the quiet hills for the glories of the finest city in all the Hundred.

The sergeant pointed to the white trim on his cloak. 'You're wearing an ostiary's stripes.'

'Yes, I'm ostiary over the temple of Ilu that's located here in Stone Quarter. We're well known as the most minor of the five temples dedicated to Ilu in Toskala.'

'An ambitious person raised to a high position might feel slighted to be called "minor." Maybe you were hoping for a better place.'

He was very irritating, and Nekkar was anxious about his charges and sick of seeing unoffending refugees cut like debt slaves and dragged away. Standing in line half the day with hands and ankle throbbing and without food or drink had made him light-headed enough to kick him into incautious speech, that sarcastic way he had of lecturing youth when they were being idiots. 'I'm perfectly happy with an orderly, unambitious existence. Keeping to my place and serving the gods as I am sworn, and leaving others to go about their lawful business. In peace.'

The soldier's hand flicked up. A gasp voiced behind was his only warning. A blow cracked him across the shoulders and he dropped to his knees, too stunned to cry out. His gaze hazed; lights danced. He sobbed, then caught a tangle of prayer and chanted under his breath to take his mind off the pain blossoming across his back and the fear sparking in his mind.

'Hold him for questioning.' The sergeant's voice faded.

They dragged him out to the back and dumped him on the ground. Pain paralyzed him. He tried to imagine what Vassa

might be cooking for dinner tonight, but his parched mouth tasted only of sand. It was easier to let go and close his eyes.

He came to with a start, his back throbbing as if a herd of dray beasts had stampeded over his body. Voices staggered back and forth, fading, growing louder, and fading in a slide that made him dizzy although he was flat on his stomach and sucking in dust with each nauseated breath.

'Just these two outlanders in the last eight days?' a woman asked. 'That's all you've rounded up, Sergeant Tomash?'

'My apologies, Holy One. I have been searching according to the orders given out by the Lord Commander Radas and Commander Hetti, Holy One. Every household and guild is required to open their compound to my soldiers and present a census of their household members and their wealth. These two slaves are the only outlanders I've found in Stone Quarter.'

Someone was weeping, desperate and afraid.

'Release them, or kill them, as you wish. They are useless to me.'

'My apologies, Holy One.' The sergeant, whose contemptuous tone inside the inn had made folk cringe, sounded as near to tears as a whining boy dumped by uncaring relatives on the auction block. 'I've been diligent. I am interviewing compound by compound throughout this quarter, just as I was ordered. Anyone unlawfully on the streets is brought before me. These folk I had dragged out here all need further examination, Holy One.'

'Look at me!'

The sergeant whimpered.

Nekkar opened the eye that wasn't jammed up against the ground. At first he thought his vision was ruined; his open eye scratched as if scoured by sand, and when he blinked, it hurt to open and close. Then he realized that actually it was dusk, and also that a few paces from his head floated a cloak of rippling fabric like the night sky speckled by stars.

A person in travel-worn sandals wrapped over dusty feet was standing not three steps from his nose; it was this person who wore the cloak.

'You've spoken the truth about the outlanders,' said the cloak.

The sergeant sobbed with a gasp of relief. 'Yes, Holy One.'

'You've done as well as anyone could.'

'My thanks, Holy One.'

'Bring the prisoners before me one at a time.' She moved away to a trellis.

Nekkar eased up onto his side. He was lying in the inner courtyard of the Thirsty Saw, where he and other folk in Stone Quarter often drank under the shade of an awning green with vines. Soldiers lined the compound wall, staring at their boots. Prisoners were tied to the posts that supported the massive trellis, and more were stuffed doubled over and in evident pain into livestock cages. Many had soiled themselves from being confined for so long, their reek mixing with the sour stench of spilled wine.

The sergeant designated a pair of reluctant soldiers to haul the prisoners forward one at a time. The first man had been beaten so badly he could barely walk, and his head swayed on his neck as if he were not quite conscious.

The woman held a writing brush and a neatly trimmed sheet of mulberry paper. Her cloak's hood was thrown back to reveal a nondescript face, pleasant enough in its lineaments and near in age to Nekkar, who had at the turn of the year made forty-seven and counted his thirtieth year in service to Ilu, the Herald. The prisoner's gaze was forced to meet hers.

She marked on the paper like a clerk. 'Veron, son of the Ten Chains clan of Toskala. You have committed a terrible crime.'

The man collapsed. After a moment, it became apparent he was dead. Just like that. His spirit had fled through the Gate, leaving its husk.

A soldier retched. Two others grabbed the dead man's ankles and dragged him out of sight as another prisoner was shoved forward. This one, a woman Nekkar knew by sight from the market square, sobbed noisily as she confessed that her clan had hidden its gold beneath the planks of their weaving house.

'Were you not commanded to reveal all coin and stores in your household's possession, as well as provide a full census of household members including any outlanders or gods-touched residing there?' asked the cloak, her tone calm. 'Why do you not obey when you know there will be a punishment?'

'We cleanse them who disobey our orders so flagrantly, Holy One,' said Sergeant Tomash. 'As an example.'

The woman began to scream, pleas for mercy, anything but to be hung by her arms from a post until she died of exposure and thirst, but the cloak gestured and she was dragged away. Another was hauled forward in her place.

So went the weary round. The sergeant was a cunning man in his own way; every person here had triggered his suspicion, and every one now confessed either to some petty crime or to concealing valuables or in one case an outlander slave. A merchant babbled about how he cheated on his rice measures. All were condemned to the post.

One frail old fellow fell to his knees as he begged her pardon for having killed another laborer back in his youth.

'You killed him? You confess it?' She lifted her brush, touched it to the rice paper.

He croaked a gasp, or perhaps it was meant to be a word, but like the first man he tumbled forward onto his face. Dead.

Nekkar shut his eyes as the corpse was dragged away.

'This man turned himself in to spare his clan,' the sergeant said. 'He confessed to hoarding nai-'

'Look at me,' said the cloak. 'Sergeant, lift his chin-'

Nekkar opened his eyes just as the sergeant wrenched the man's chin up. The prisoner was young, hale, and with the thick arms and powerful legs of a laborer. He struggled, keeping his head down, but his eyes flicked up anyway, as though gauging his distance.

She took a step back. 'Kill him.'

As soldiers drew their swords, the young man fought free and tugged a knife from his boot; he leaped toward the cloak, but spears pinned him before he reached her.

'He concealed no nai.' Her tone remained even as she watched him thrashing, still fighting forward despite flesh pierced and his blood flowing. 'He came to attack me. That is why he hid his gaze.'

'No heart can be hidden from you, Holy One,' murmured the sergeant. 'Cut his throat.'

The young man screamed; his failure was worse than the pain, no doubt. At least this one had fought back instead of waiting passively, too fearful or too shamed to stand up.

'Enough,' Nekkar said aloud.

What a gods-rotted fool he was, knowing he was responsible for the temple and yet staggering to his feet because he could not bear to watch this perverse assizes any longer. He straightened, grimacing at the stabbing pains in his abused body.

'Heya!' barked the sergeant. 'Stop, or you'll be cut down likewise.'

Nekkar faced the woman in the cloak. 'Enough! Why do you do this? Are you not a Guardian? For by your look, and your power, you seem to be one of those who wear Taru's cloak and wield the second heart and the third eye to judge those who have broken the law. The orphaned girl prayed to the gods to bring peace to the land, not cleansing.'

'Does cleansing not bring about peace?'

'As well argue that fear and terror bring about peace. Guardians are meant to establish justice. Is that what you call this? Justice?'

'Stay your hand,' said the cloaked woman before the soldiers could rain blows down upon him. She captured his gaze.

Aui! There it all tumbled as she spun the threads out of his heart: the mistakes he had made, the harsh words he had spoken, his youthful temper and rashness and the fights he'd gotten into, breaking one man's nose and another's arm, the girl he'd impregnated the month before he had entered the temple for his apprenticeship1 year. He had afterward lied outright, saying it wasn't his seed, to avoid marrying her, and afterward taken seven years of temple service to make sure they couldn't force him, although many years later after being humbled and honed by the discipline of envoyship, he had made restitution to her clan. And what of his twenty years bedding Vassa? Yet what had he and Vassa to be ashamed of, he an ostiary forbidden to marry and she a young widow who had preferred her widowhood to a second marriage arranged by her clan? They did nothing wrong by sharing a pallet; he served the temple as he had done for thirty years and she cooked in her family's neighboring compound as she had done her entire life.

Enough! The cloak's gaze pierced him, but it did not cripple him. He had made peace with his mistakes and his faults.

She regarded him with a sharp frown. 'The gods enjoined the Guardians to seek justice. People suffer or die through a recognition of their own crimes, in their own hearts.'

'It looks to me like you kill them. Or hand them over to your lackeys to be cleansed. If you believe that to be justice, then you are no Guardian!'

The sergeant snarled. The soldiers hissed with fear.

'You are bold in your honesty, Ostiary Nekkar,' she said, having gleaned his name from his thoughts. 'You provided a census of your temple to the authorities, I see. Know you of outlanders in

this city? Know you of any man or woman, outlander or Hundred folk, who can see ghosts, as the gods-touched are said to do?'

He did not want to tell her, but his thoughts spilled their secrets and she lapped them up however he struggled to conceal what he knew of Stone Quarter's clans and compounds. He wept furiously, hating how he betrayed them: He knew of eight outlanders who were slaves in Stone Quarter, and he'd glimpsed others in Flag, Bell, Wolf, and Fifth Quarters as well. They came from foreign lands and usually served out their days with the clan who had purchased them. There was a young envoy stationed in Flag Quarter known to be gods-touched. Some years ago he'd met another at the Ilu temple up on the Ili Cutoff, an older man. A pair of gods-touched mendicants were said to wander the tracks and back roads of lower Haldia, aiding troubled ghosts in crossing away under Spirit Gate. Shouldn't such holy ones be left in peace to do what the gods commanded?

She released him by looking away to pinion the sergeant. 'Sergeant Tomash, you will accompany me to Flag Quarter. I must search out this young gods-touched envoy. After that, I have a new assignment for you. Collect all the census records. I want a hostage taken from every compound and handed over to the army.'

'But my work in Stone Quarter, Holy One?'

'Is no longer your concern. There are two cohorts marching down from High Haldia to take over administrative duties here once the army marches on Nessumara. You will report directly to the main command as my personal adjutant, with your rank raised to that of captain. I'll call on you and your company as I have need of them.'

'You honor me, Holy One. Shall we cleanse the ostiary, Holy One?'

'No. The gods will dispose of an honest ostiary as they see fit. Come. My errand is urgent. The gods-touched are our enemies. All must be brought before me.'

The soldiers shrank back as she skirted the bodies of the fallen to reach a gate that led into the alley separating this compound from an adjoining emporium. She opened the gate and walked through.

The new captain paused under the lintel, a malicious smile slashing his face as he contemplated his enhanced authority. 'Dump that one in Scavengers' Alley like the rubbish he is. Then we'll see how the gods choose to dispose of an honest ostiary.'

The blow took Nekkar from behind. A second smashed into his shoulders as laughter hammered in his ears. Distantly, a man sobbed. He toppled dazedly to the dirt, wondering why there was a salty taste in his mouth. What had Vassa cooked tonight for supper?

With the third blow came oblivion.

How to describe what you grew up never having words for? Nallo had been born and raised in the rugged Soha Hills, where a person might stand on a ridge path and survey higher slopes where rock broke the surface of the soil like old bones, and deeper gullies where streams ran white. But to fly! To hang in the harness below an eagle, as the land unrolled beneath you like so many bolts of multicolored cloth!

That was something.

She had never seen a river so wide that a shout might not carry across it. To the north, forest tangled the earth. To the south, on the far side of the river, neat rectangles marked densely packed fields, and every village boasted a flagpole and one or two small temples, each one easily identifiable from the air. There lay a quartered square, a temple built for Kotaru the Thunderer, the god she had served for one year as an apprentice. Here rose the three-tiered gates holy to Ilu the Herald. Roofs thatched with fanned leaves from the thatch-oil tree covered altars raised to Taru the Witherer, their bright green color withering as the rains faded. She spotted a walled garden sacred to Ushara the Merciless One, a few people loitering in the forecourt, too tiny to distinguish male from female; in the Devourer's garden, such distinctions did not matter as long as you brought clean desire to the act of worship.

She glanced toward her companion reeves. Kesta led while Pil flew the west flank. Ahead lay the ocean, a seething expanse of water that fell into the sky far to the east.

Tumna chirped, jerking Nallo's attention to a discoloration lying athwart land and ocean dead ahead. It was hard to fathom until the eyes began to identify the multitudinous strands of water plaiting the land and the rank upon rank of wood and stone buildings rising on islands within the delta as though they were a crop of stone being raised out of the earth. Was that Nessumara, the jewel of the sea, the city of bridges, the largest city in the Hundred?

I'm just a hill girl born to goat herders! I'll never get used to this!

Following Kesta's eagle, Arkest, Tumna dropped toward one island among many within the branching arms of the great river. Nallo laughed with the blend of fear and thrill she'd not yet gotten used to. The wind rumbled in her ears. The city flew up to meet her, and Tumna banked to overfly the largest parade ground, where Kesta and Arkest were just setting down. Nallo counted four parade grounds, separated by a maze of walls and lofts, as Tumna veered toward an empty one. Jessed eagles concealed in lofts called out in challenge, but Tumna ignored them. Extending her wings to their greatest extent, she raised her talons to make a perfect landing on a massive wooden log set horizontal to the ground.

'Whoop!' Nallo shouted. Tumna chuffed, shaking herself as Nallo unhooked from the harness and dropped to the ground. Two fawkners jogged out from the lofts.

'Heya! I'm Nallo, out of Clan Hall. Greetings of the day.'

'Yeh, yeh, you're new, aren't you? Your eagle did all the work, that's for sure. What's your eagle's name? Anything we should know?'

The brusque voice brought her up short. 'She's called Tumna, and' — she paused to get their attention — 'she ripped off the head of her last reeve.'

'Deserved, no doubt,' said the stouter one, who did all the talking. The wiry one nodded with a sneering grin.

They were experienced fawkners and she a novice reeve, not even yet able to steer her eagle properly. Sparring with them was not a battle she could win. 'We're here to pick up rice and nai for the siege.'

'So we heard. You can't possibly ferry enough sacks of rice and nai by eagle flight to feed Toskala.'

'We're not feeding Toskala, only the defenders up on Law Rock.'

'Why stay in Clan Hall at all? Why not evacuate? Copper Hall could use reinforcements at our main hall on the Haya shore. And Horn Hall is abandoned.'

'We can't abandon Law Rock and Justice Square to those who mean to overthrow the law.'

The fawkner shook her head. 'Maybe not. But we're overrun with refugees from Istria and Haldia. We're starting to see hungry and sick refugees out of Toskala, and for sure there are more to come, eh? Our reeves are buried under fights and altercations all along the roads, even with the militia out patrolling.'

The wiry fellow spoke up for the first time. 'Seems selfish of you Clan Hall reeves not to disperse to reinforce the other halls. Work together. Be of some use.'

'We're not giving up Law Rock,' snapped Nallo. 'Now, can you show me where we're to pick up the grain? I hope the merchants of Nessumara are more polite than you.'

'Whoof! Don't cross this one, eh, Arvd?' said the woman before she hawked and spat on the dirt. Hostility was easy to see in the creases of her mouth. 'You've got that gods-rotted old Silver to bargain with. He'll suck you dry.' As one, they took a step back as Sweet pulled up neat as you please to land on the other side of the parade ground. 'The hells! We heard rumor an outlander had jessed, but we didn't believe it. Is he human?'

'As human as I am,' Nallo retorted. 'Although I wonder about you two, not even giving a proper greeting and then speaking ill of some old man I've never even met.'

'Whew! My ears are burning!' They sauntered away to get a look at Pil.

She turned back to Tumna, awkward with the hand signals. 'Remain' was easy enough, a sweep and clutch sketched in the air. Then she ran after the fawkners. 'Heya! Where am I supposed to go?'

Copper Hall's island was larger than Argent Hall. To make it all more confusing, this parade ground was rimmed on all sides by buildings, lofts, barracks, storehouses, even a smithy roiling with smoke and noisy with beaten strokes, wang wang wangl Her head hurt already, and in addition to the iron sting wafting from the smithy, there crept into her nostrils a slimy fragrance that dwelt in the air the same way a winter byre full of goats has a smell as much texture as scent.

'To the docks,' they shouted back before they approached Pil. He had climbed up the ladder to the fawkner's board just below the perch to examine Sweet's wings. Sweet was a good-tempered bird, less territorial than most not so much because she was friendlier but because she seemed bored of going to the trouble of posturing over each least perch. Nallo suspected that

things wouldn't go so smoothly if you really crossed the old bird.

Pil satisfied himself on the matter of the wing feathers — how he fussed over that eagle! — and descended the ladder. His exchange with the fawkners was briefer than hers had been; then he jogged to meet her, gesturing toward a gap between the smithy and a warehouse.

'That way,' he said.

The experienced reeves assured her she'd eventually get the hang of retracing, on earth, ground she'd flown over. Pil could already backtrack easily. She hurried after him, the fawkners staying with the raptors.

He stopped short, and she barreled into his back.

'Oof! Aui, Pil, what's-?'

Few things surprised Pil, but right now he was gaping like a dumbstruck child. A creature, human in shape but stout and hairless, had backed out of the enclosed smithy to slop a bucket of steaming water over the paving stones. Its skin, like coals, was charred black and broken with veins of fiery red.

'A demon!' murmured Pil.

With the clamor hammering within the smithy and the distance between them, no ears should have been able to catch that muttered comment, but the creature swiveled its head as if identifying distance and direction.

'Heya! Are you two the other reeves from Clan Hall?' A steward came running down the alley between smithy and warehouse. She wheezed to a stop beside them, bent to rest hands on thighs as she caught her breath. 'Hunh! Eie! Your other reeve…' A spate of coughing calmed her. 'She needs a hand there at the dock. Old Iron-goat-shanks is in full spout.' Excitement gave air to her voice. 'Despicable man! We hear a rumor he's getting a new bride from Olossi. Poor lass. They're already running bets in the hall over how long she'll survive his beatings. Two years, maybe; five if she's strong. I'm Ju'urda, by the way. I hope those cursed fawkners Arvi and Offina weren't rude. My apologies on behalf of the hall.'

'What is that?' Nallo gestured toward the smithy.

'Eh?' She looked around in the manner of someone who can't see anything except what she expects to see. 'What?'

'That, uh, that — oh, the hells!' Cursed if the creature wasn't already looking in their direction as if it could hear every word

over the boom and hammer coming from inside the confines of the smoky forge. 'It's a delving, isn't it? Just like in the tales.'

'A delving?' asked Pil.

'Country cousins, eh?' Ju'urda laughed in a way that stung, but immediately she tipped back her head and spoke past them, not shouting as a normal person would have to, to have a hope of being heard above the racket. 'Heya, Be. These are reeves visiting from another hall. One's an outlander and the other has never seen your kind before. Their apologies.

It raised an arm to acknowledge her speech and glided back inside the smithy carrying the empty bucket.

'The delvings can be cursed touchy, not that I blame them,' said the steward. 'It doesn't pay to insult them. Your grandchildren might find themselves with a ban still held against them when they least expect it.'

'What is a delving?' asked Pil.

'No time.' She glanced at Nallo. 'How in the hells did an outlander get to be a reeve?'

'No time,' said Nallo with a grin meant to have an edge, but Ju'urda laughed with real amusement, then set off at a trot, leading them down the alley. Nallo could see nothing of the hall grounds or the city beyond because they were hemmed in by buildings, none more than two stories tall and all with railings along the flat roofs and canvas set up over bare roof beams as if folk lived up there, too.

Ju'urda was soon flagging, although the jog seemed easy enough to Nallo. Pil, of course, was as tough as any man she'd ever met. Born, raised, and trained as a Qin soldier, he would die rather than show weakness.

Which made it all the more curious, Nallo supposed, that when he saw a creature he did not recognize, he immediately identified it as a fearful demon. Maybe they had more demons in the lands outside the Hundred. The gods had ordered the Hundred; naturally they had desired variety, for weren't there three languages spoken in the Hundred, and weren't there Four Mothers, and eight 'children' — thinking creatures — shaped by the Mothers? Weren't there five feasts, six reeve halls, and seven gods?

That's what made this marauding army all the worse. They all wore a medallion they called the Star of Life. They didn't respect the gods. They burned altars and ransacked temples, and worst of all, they flouted the law on which the Hundred was built. It was

like digging out your foundation from under your house without concern for what would happen afterward.

They emerged onto a clear area of docks emplaced along a channel of murky gray water. The slimy stench made Nallo flinch. The water heaved with sludge and garbage. On the far side of the channel, buildings crammed the far bank. Boats and barges and slender canoes clogged the waterway.

A barge lodged at the dock had disgorged a pair of men wearing the distinctive wrapped turbans that marked them as Silvers. The elder was arguing with a furious Kesta.

'-bare-faced and parading around half naked-' The Silver was very old but vigorous despite the wrinkle of years on his face. He spoke in the loud voice Nallo associated with people who, having lost their own hearing, assume no one else can hear well.

'You might as well throw swill in my face,' said Kesta, a flush darkening her cheeks. 'How dare you speak to a reeve-?'

'Throw swill I would, for it's the only fitting punishment for a woman who flaunts herself-'

'Here, now, Grandfather,' said the weedy grandson with a fluttering gesture.

The old man whacked him across the back with his cane. 'Shut your mouth, pup!' He looked up, seeing Pil. 'Here, now, ver. You're one of those Qin outlanders I've heard story of, aren't you?' The women might as well not have existed. T brought rice and nai to feed one hundred adults for one month, a generous allotment, if I must say so myself. Five cheyt for the lot. To be delivered in an even split of unhusked rice and whole nai. Nai flour will spoil, so you'll have to pound your own.'

Pil looked at Kesta, but she was too choked with anger to speak. He looked at Nallo and lifted a hand, palm up: What do I do?

Nallo was no clerk of Sapanasu, to add up such staggeringly large numbers in her head; she had never even seen a gold cheyt coin, not once in her twenty years of living. But she'd fed a household. In the village, a tey of rice sold for ten vey and was enough to feed one adult for one day. Nai was more filling, and cost less. Sixty vey equaled one leya, and sixty leya one cheyt… 'It seems like a fair price.'

'I–It's — cursed — generous,' huffed Ju'urda in a low voice. 'Just — cursed — clasp — agreement — so — his — hirelings — can — unload.'

Pil looked uncomfortable as he addressed the old man. 'It is agreed to be a fair price, ver.'

'It's not a fair price! It's a bargain, a steal, a quarter of what I could get on the open market, and no doubt in these dire times I could raise my prices to gouge the desperate if it weren't forbidden to make a profit from the suffering of others.'

'Yes, Grandfather, you're as generous as the sun. Everyone knows it. Especially since you're expecting a favor from the reeves in return.' Silver bracelets ringed the grandson's forearm halfway to the elbow as he extended the arm.

As senior reeve, Kesta took a step forward in response.

The old man's forearms were entirely bound in silver rings, jangling and flashing every time he shifted, as he did now, thwap-ping the lad on the rump. 'Touch her, and you'll never be allowed to marry, stupid pup. I'll toss you out the door and you'll have to live on the street.'

Nallo nudged Pil from behind, the movement unseen by the older man but in clear sight of the younger, who had the grace to look embarrassed. Pil knew how to obey orders. He and the other young man exchanged the traditional clasp of agreement.

'It's no wonder this unholy army is stampeding across the Hundred,' shouted the old man, stabbing at the air with his cane. 'Where are all the men, if they are not in their proper place?'

He stomped to the barge and shouted across the gangplank. Laborers swarmed up, hauling sacks off the boat and dumping them on the dock.

The young Silver released Pil's hand and blushed, easy to see on his paler skin. 'The old goat is in a particularly foul mood. My apologies.'

'What gives him leave to think he can talk to a reeve that way?' Kesta said.

'He calls it an affront for women to stand in authority in public,' said the youth.

'An affront to women, you mean! Him talking like that!'

'He's gotten worse as the gout has ailed him, and his hearing has gotten very bad, so he tightens his hold on his memories of the past, although I admit to you I'm sure the old days weren't as he pretends to recall them.'

Ju'urda pressed a hand on Kesta's arm. 'No use digging into this wound, eh? Say nothing more of it, Yeshen. It's a cursed generous offer, well under market value.'

Kesta whistled. 'It'll take us some time to haul it all north, one sack per eagle.'

'What will happen now the commander of Clan Hall is dead?' asked Ju'urda. 'There's no one in charge.'

'We've sent messengers to the other halls.' Kesta's gaze drifted to the sacks piling up in rows. The hirelings worked efficiently despite the old man throwing comments like knives.

'Don't drop that, you clumsy nit! Aren't you strong enough? Move faster!'

Kesta shook her head. 'Is that scrap of coin all he really wants? Hard to see him as generous.'

Yeshen frowned. 'He's got an affianced bride in Olossi he wants flown up here.'

'Reeves aren't carters whose services can be purchased with coin!' objected Kesta.

He shrugged. 'I'm just telling you what he expects. Anyhow, verea, three houses of Ri Amarah in High Haldia were killed, every man, woman, and child they got their hands on, and their holdings looted and compounds burned. A few escaped to Nessumara to tell of it. Whatever else, he knows what will happen to us if Nessumara falls.' He rubbed a sweaty forehead with the back of a hand as if that could wipe away the fear. 'Even so, I don't see how the enemy can hold High Haldia, Toskala, and the countryside, and attack Nessumara as well. No one can have that big an army. Can they?'

Nallo snorted. What a gods-rotted pampered youth he was!

He flushed.

Ju'urda flashed an annoyed glance at Nallo. 'It does seem impossible, doesn't it? But we've got every reeve out on patrol and our hirelings detailed to build barriers and strengthen the gates on the causeway. Better to be prepared than taken by surprise, eh?' She nodded at Kesta. 'So it falls to me and you to deal with old goat-shanks besides.'

'His ill temper is worth enduring to get these provisions. I've dealt with worse-tempered mules.' Kesta considered the sacks. 'We'll need to store these in your warehouses until we can haul them north.'

The young Silver gestured. 'My hirelings will move them wherever you'd like, verea.'

'My thanks.' Ju'urda left with a hireling to show him the warehouse, while the young Silver retreated to the boat and the shadow of his glowering grandfather.

Kesta stalked over to Nallo and Pil. 'Grab a sack and let's get moving.'

'There's more than five hundred people trapped on Law Rock,' said Nallo. 'Is there any chance we'll lift some of them off to get them out of the way?'

'It's not my decision to make,' said Kesta. 'There's a hundred children, and another two hundred adults useless for defense and hard to feed. We need a commander, but Peddo and the other messengers aren't back yet.' She loosed a, glare at the back of the old man, for all the good it did. Then she grinned. 'You kept your mouth shut tight, Nallo. That's a wonder!'

'I was too shocked to say anything. I just kept wondering if he has horns under that turban! Seems like he would, doesn't it?'

Kesta snorted.

'Anyway, Pil and I, we saw a delving. It was working in the smithy.'

The news did not cause Kesta to gasp or goggle. 'Copper Hall has a dispensation from the delving assizes, as repayment for an ancient favor done to aid the delvings. I think it's in one of the tales. They get seasonal work from a chain of delvings out of Arro- Here now, why am I babbling on? Grab a sack, you loafers. You've got the hauling harness with your eagles. Make sure it's bundled tightly. Let's move.'

As Nallo shouldered one of the heavy sacks, she caught a glimpse of the old man looking her way with a grimace so ugly a spark of anger flared and she found herself taking a step toward him. There was a man who needed a few blunt words shouted in his griping face.

'Nallo,' said Pil in his soft way.

With a sigh, she followed him. Toskala could not wait. He was just one cranky, selfish, old, and very rich man. Maybe all Silvers were like him, or maybe he was an unpleasant old coot whose wealth had purchased him the right to bully those within reach of his cane. She'd been mean to those in her care a time or two, just because she let her temper and her resentment get the better of her. Who was to say she couldn't become like him, if she wasn't careful?

It was a sobering thought.

Up!

Nessumara and the delta fell away behind and below as streaming air wicked away the stench of brackish water and too

many people crammed onto too many islets. The smithy had smelled a cursed lot fresher, nothing fetid or decomposing where metal was forged. Nallo kept seeing the delving in her mind's eye, the way its head had turned at the sound of their voices. You could tell if someone was looking at you across a distance; eyes had a way of holding and meeting, or maybe it was jvist the way bodies tensed and shoulders straightened or dropped. It had heard every word.

About forty mey separated Nessumara from Toskala, as the eagle flew. It was difficult to get used to flying in half a day a journey that by river or road might take as many as eight days. The huge river wound a convoluted course, with the wide roadbed of Istri Walk cutting a course more or less parallel to the main channel of the river. The road below was clogged with traffic: people in wagons, pushing carts, trudging with children hoisted on their shoulders. Folk were fleeing from the army that had betrayed and conquered Toskala.

At the sight of those cursed helpless refugees, it was as if a hand reached right into her heart and squeezed until tears like blood oozed up out of her eyes, she who prided herself on being too tough to cry no matter what was thrown at her. She'd had plenty of cause to cry, growing up as a daughter more tolerated than liked in a large clan that couldn't afford to keep so many children, especially one burdened with such a foul temper. They'd been thrilled to marry her off to a much older man she'd never met. For her part, she felt the gods had been kind in sending her to a gentle man whose patience had been as wide as sky and as steady as earth. Her clan hadn't cared what manner of man he was; they'd gotten a better bride-price than they expected.

Now he was dead, killed by the Star of Life army, and she was a reeve, safe up here while others trudged vulnerably down there, not knowing who might clatter up from behind and rip the breath out of their bodies. Wasn't the entire point of being a reeve to be able to help those in need? In the tale, hadn't the orphaned girl begged the gods for a way to restore justice?

The hells! She'd lost track of both Kesta and Pil. She didn't know how to hasten Tumna along, and the cursed lumpy sack of nai was bumping her knees to bruises. Tumna did not like the extra weight, and she was not a raptor to cooperate when she was disgruntled.

As they got closer to Toskala, the traffic fell off to a trickle.

Soon, no movement stirred at all, although hamlets and villages lay everywhere on this rich land. Paddies lay close to harvest, un-tended. No one was turning the fallow fields for the dry season.

An orange flag flashed to her left. Pil and Sweet hung above the river. She tugged on a jess — the wrong one — and cursed as she corrected. Tumna beat in a long curve toward the river. As they flashed over the muddy gray-green current, a barge was being poled away from the west bank while a gang of men pursued it along the shore with swords and bows.-jCargo in tidy rows took up much of the barge, and passengers — children! — cowered among the sacks, barrels, and chests as arrows rained over them.

The river fell behind as she overshot. She tugged until Tumna with the greatest reluctance began a sweep back around while Nallo could not even twist to get a look because of the heavy sack of nai. By the time she got the river back in view, Pil had vanished. But then Sweet appeared from downriver, beating straight up the central current. Pil was loosing arrows, and at least one man on the bank went down. The barge had caught the current; men on its deck had their own bows at the ready. A man clad all in black loosed, his arrow flew, and a man on the shore staggered and fell into the river, the waters taking him as his companions grabbed hopelessly after him.

Pil and Sweet cut hard around as the black-clad man, below, raised a hand in acknowledgment. The enemy dropped away, no longer a threat. Tumna set her head north, following the river and, perhaps, Kesta's Arkest, by now out of Nallo's sight.

'Cursed bird,' muttered Nallo, but it wasn't Tumna she was angry at. She knew what it was like to flee on the roads as a refugee. Months ago she'd walked homeless and hungry and scared, and sold herself into debt slavery besides in order to get a meal. She had rejected the reeves once, but in the end, as that cursed handsome Marshal Joss had warned her, the eagle had gotten what it wanted: it had wanted Nallo. She had come to Clan Hall to be trained as a reeve, but there'd been no time or thought for arms training in the confused days after Toskala's fall. Without training, she was useless.

'You're going to have to help me out, you ill-tempered beast.' Her knuckles were white as she gripped her baton, surveying the earth for any sign of enemy whether on the march or sent out as strike forces to harry the countryside south of Toskala. Maybe they saw her from their hiding places; she did not spot them.

This region of lower Haldia was rolling plain, and soon the distinctive rock marking the prow of Toskala like an upthrust fist came into view and grew until it loomed huge as Tumna glided in, extended her wings, and pulled up short for the landing. The sack whumped down so hard Nallo feared it might burst, but it had been bound with heavy leather belts in a doubled sacking.

Fawkners came running together with stewards to carry the sack to the storehouse, but as soon as her harness was shucked, Tumna warbled her wings and walked in her clumsy way over to a rope-wrapped perch to preen, ignoring the fawkners.

'I like the bloom on her feathers,' said one of the fawkners. 'She's beginning to grow out those fret marks. Have you coped her beak? Or talons?'

'I have not. I don't know how to do anything!'

'Aui! No need to snap at me! It was just a question.'

'My apologies. I'm hungry.'

'If you're sharp set, then go eat.'

Still no sign of Pil. The promontory of Law Rock was an astounding physical formation, with its sheer cliffs and flat crown wide enough for an assizes court, a militia and firefighters barracks and administration compound, and four grain storehouses and the city rations office. Clan Hall was built along the northern rim. Beyond the reeve hall lay a tumble of boulders surrounding a string of ponds running the curve of the northeastern rim, where raptors liked to bowse and feak.

Law Rock, the actual stele, stood near the prow under a humble thatched-roof shelter. The rest of the space was dusty, open ground suitable for drilling, assemblies, festival games, or eagles landing in waves. Four new perches had been erected in the last eight days, the logs hauled up from distant forest by the most experienced reeves and strongest eagles. The fresh-cut smell, the litter of wood chips from shaping and sawing, lingered as Nallo raced past the newest one and headed for the promontory's prow, where she could scan for Pil.

'Heya!'

Nallo turned as Kesta ran up.

'Where's Pil?' the other reeve asked, wiping sweat from her neck and brow.

'He must have turned back. I saw soldiers — an enemy strike force — attacking a barge. It was so far behind the main flow of

refugees that I'm thinking they were folk who escaped Toskala after the siege was set. There was a Qin soldier on that barge.'

'What would a Qin soldier be doing all the way here? They're all with their captain in Olossi, aren't they?'

'Except for Pil.'

'Pil's a reeve. He's no longer one of them.'

A reeve who knew what he was doing. Who could sweep and turn and yank on the right jess to go the right direction; who could shoot arrows and kill men from harness. Who could actually do something.

'What's wrong?' asked Kesta, grasping Nallo's wrist and leaning toward her with lips parted in alarm.

This close, Nallo saw clearly the scar on her chin and another on her neck, as if she'd caught an arrow or blade in the flesh. Trembling, she thought, I should kiss her.

Eyes flaring, Kesta said, 'Nallo?' But her gaze skipped up from Nallo's face to the sky, and whatever else she meant to say was obliterated by a grin of relief. 'Cursed outlander. Look at him come down at such an angle!'

Pil and Sweet plummeted down over them. Shrieks of alarm were followed by whoops of laughter as the old raptor came down with a flourish right out in the open rather than in the more isolated parade ground.

'For such a quiet lad, he's turning into a bit of a show-off, eh?' Kesta hadn't released Nallo's arm. 'What's troubling you?'

Nallo had never before had trouble speaking her mind. Indeed, it had been the thing people had liked least about her. But a horrible swell of uncertainty — about being a reeve, about Kesta, about their hopes for succeeding stranded up here — strangled her tongue. 'I'm just hungry.'

She shook free of Kesta and hurried to meet Pil, while Kesta dogged her steps in a most annoying way. Yet the other reeve said nothing as they greeted Pil; as they checked in with the fawkners; as they sat down over an afternoon bowl of rice flavored with the last of the dill weed as Pil described in his endearingly awkward accent the brief battle on the river shore.

'It was Tohon,' he said. 'The Qin scout.'

'The hells,' muttered Kesta. 'So that's what Volias was on about. Why would folk from Olossi risk sending scouts up here, when they know if they're captured they'll just be interrogated and executed?'

'They prepare an attack by scouting ahead into the territory,' said Pil with a shrug, as if the answer was obvious to him.

Kesta's laugh was edged with a despairing anger. 'We think the enemy may have as many as ten cohorts spread along the River Istri. That would be six thousand men. As good as the Qin may be, they have — what? — two hundred men? There is no army to save us!'

'Not yet,' said Pil, scooping up more rice.

'We don't have to be useless!' snapped Nallo.

'What's eating you?' Kesta waved her spoon.

Nallo leaped up and strode away as other reeves stared. She found a shaded corner deep in the compound, slammed her back against a wall, and stood there breathing and trembling for a while. It was the cursed sense of helpless uselessness that ate at her.

After a while Pil walked around the corner and leaned back beside her, settling in as though he meant to wait all night if need be. In truth, it was getting dark.

'Ah, the hells!' she said with a bitter laugh. 'Let's go look at the cursed city, eh?'

Silence was assent. He walked companionably, saying nothing as usual, until they reached the big balcony that jutted over the cliff face. Off to the right sat the huge winches for the provisions baskets, safely roped up. A wooden barrier fenced off the stairs so no idiot child could go climbing down and get trapped in the rubble that blocked the steps.

The sun had already set as they leaned on the railing and stared over the city turning to shadow below. Before, twilight had been a bright and busy time in Toskala, lamps bobbing along the avenues as carters and porters made their final deliveries, the night markets coming to life as the day died. Now the city lay dark except for the army camp beyond the outer walls where campfires flickered, and lanterns that lighted the sentry and curfew stations in the main squares and central thoroughfares.

With Pil she could say what she wanted without being judged.

'How can I be a proper reeve when I hardly know how to fly, can barely handle my raptor, and haven't the least idea what to do in a fight? I lost sight of Kesta and you. I would have been lost except for the river. I came to Clan Hall to get training. Now there isn't time. At least you know how to fight.'

'The commander makes this decision, how to train new reeves.'

His calm words smoothed the turbulence in her heart. Someone would have to take charge, and then things would change. 'Flying provisions up from Nessumara might not seem like much, but it's something. As long as we hold Law Rock, the people of Toskala have a hope that we can overcome the enemy. That matters, doesn't it?'

Since she expected no answer, she was content to lean on the railing as stars came out between the patchwork clouds. The voice of the river blended with the steady wind in her ears. After a while, a lantern bobbed toward them, and Kesta walked up.

'I wondered where you had gotten to.' She hooked the lantern over a post and leaned on the railing next to Nallo. 'Did you ever figure out what's troubling you?'

'I just feel cursed useless, that's all, but maybe once the halls choose a new commander we can get some kind of order and routine restored.'

'So we can hope.' Her hand was curled invitingly close to Nallo's on the railing.

Nallo sucked in a sharp breath.

Pil took a step back. 'Fire!'

One moment it was like a lantern's light flaring in a distant quarter; the next, flames rippled skyward.

'That's in Stone Quarter!' Kesta ran to the fire bell, grabbed the rope, and swung the clacker back and forth.

The noise rose skyward like the blaze, and a cadre of firefighters came running from the barracks to crowd on the balcony and watch, but of course there wasn't a cursed thing they could do except to wonder what in the hells was going on in the occupied city.

The touch of a hand roused Nekkar, and he flinched.

'I'm here to help you, Holy One,' said a female voice softly. She spoke with an odd way of rounding her e's, and she stank so badly he gagged. 'Can you move?'

A horrible taste coated his mouth. But when he twitched his feet, his legs, his hands, his shoulders, nothing seemed broken, although shifting the twisted ankle made his eyes tear.

'I think I can walk. Was I beaten?'

'Alas, you were, Holy One. I saw it all from the rooftop. But then they were called off to some other task before they could finish the job, fortunately for you.'

'Who are you, verea?'

'Let's get you out of this rubbish.'

The ground slid beneath them as she hauled him out of a pile of stinking garbage. He could barely put weight on his left ankle; pain ripped through his shoulders with each movement. She led him to a ladder propped in the gap between gutter and eaves and, after looping a rope around his midsection, supported him up to the roof of a low storehouse. There he sprawled, spread-eagled and fearful he'd slide and plunge over, back into the rubbish heap. She pulled up the ladder.

'We've got to move you away from this alley, Holy One, before the soldiers come back looking for you. Can you move?'

The pain made tears flow. 'Yes.'

She patted his forearm. 'You've got courage, Holy One. Follow me.'

They wedged the ladder into a higher set of eaves to get from the storehouse up onto the warehouse roof proper. He tried not to let his weight drag on the rope, but as they bellied up to the peak of the roof, he slipped twice and she dug in her toes and halted his fall. Once at the peak it was easier to move sideways to the far end of the warehouse.

Like the other quarters, Stone Quarter was laid out in blocks, each block made up of compounds, one vast architecture of roofs crammed in against each other except for the occasional courtyards associated with artisans' and guild workshops and the six temple grounds. Tonight, not even one paper lantern was hung out under eaves to illuminate the walkways below. No street vendors sold noodles or soup; no apprentices staggered drunkenly down the avenues roaring popular melodies.

They reached the warehouse's edge just above an archway whose span bridged the avenue below to reach the roofs on the other side of the street. 'Hold on, ver. This part is tricky.'

'We're going across?'

'We are. I'm taking you to your temple. But you'll have to help me find it once we get down on the streets.'

'The soldiers will arrest us for being out after curfew. You're not local, I can hear it. They'll cleanse you.'

'They won't catch us.'

She let herself down the pitch, then helped him negotiate a pair of drops that brought them to the span. It was a festival arch, sturdy enough. In daylight it would be seen to be painted a brilliant yellow, but the shadows were kind and it was not difficult to

scoot across with a leg on either side of the peak. They were about halfway across when the woman slumped against the tiles. Feet shuffled and slapped on the street below. He flattened himself as lantern light bobbed into view. Soldiers drove a mob of folk down the avenue. Many of the prisoners were sobbing; others trudged silently, heads bowed. A few called out.

'At least allow us to gather our belongings before you expel us! We never did anything wrong!'

'Please let me return and get my children! They'll starve. You can't be so heartless.'

'Sheh!' The swaggering man at the front barked a laugh. 'They break curfew, and yet they complain about usV

'They could have stayed in their villages instead of running to the city, eh?' agreed another soldier. 'Makes 'em look like they have something to hide, I reckon.'

A man broke, making a dash toward the alley snaking away behind the warehouse compound. While the forward contingent of soldiers pressed the rest of the group onward, three others went running after the fleeing man. So no one looked up as the crowd passed under the arch and down the avenue into a night illuminated only by the lanterns carried by the soldiers.

From the alley, a man's screams rose, then failed abruptly.

After a moment, the three soldiers trotted out of the alley and hurried under the arch after the others, chortling and boasting as if they hadn't just killed a man.

'So I said, "You've not fattened up that veal yet." Heh. That's when I called you two over. We'd have given that foreign slave something to trim his pinched face, eh? Thinking he had the right to say no to us, eh! If sergeant hadn't called up formation just right then, I'd've bust him down.'

A comrade answered. 'You report him? That you saw an out-lander, I mean?'

'Sure I did, but I got no coin because their tent wasn't there no more when I led the captain over that way. I wonder what happened to that lot of young whores.'

'If they tried to set up in the city, they'll just be thrown out, neh? Like the rest of these gods-rotted refugees.'

Their laughter faded into the gloom.

His shoulders throbbed and his ankle burned, and he was furious and shaking, but he crept after his companion to the next roof and after that to another, the huge rations warehouse

overlooking Terta Square. There, arms hugging the roof ridge-line, they rested.

The square was lit by lanterns fixed on poles. Directly opposite, the temple dedicated to Kotaru was flanked on one side by a militia barracks brimful with enemy soldiers and on the other by a fire station left without a night guard except for its loyal dog. The rest of the square's frontage was taken up by several large inns and substantial emporia now shuttered and dark. There were four wells sunk into the center, guarded by a contingent of soldiers. A long line of people still waited outside the Thirsty Saw, guarded by yet more soldiers. Several shuffled in through the door while, from the alley that led into the back courtyard of the inn where he had seen the Guardian, ten or more hapless folk came staggering out into the square clutching their left forearms. These refugees were prodded into line. Over in the gloom by the alley entrance lay a pair of discarded bodies.

'How do we get to your temple from here? Which street?'

'Lumber Avenue. Who are you?'

'I am a spy. Not from around here.'

'That I can hear in your speech. Yet there are people who sell information or their services to the army, in exchange for coin or preference or safety.'

'True enough, Holy One. But I'm not one of them.' He sensed a smile from her tone. 'I need something from you I can't get from the army.'

'This reminds me of an episode from a tale, verea. Cruel soldiers. A chatty, attractive spy. A decrepit man of middling years.'

'How do you know I'm attractive, Holy One?'

'You've held me close a time or two as we've made our way here. I know the feel of a shapely female body. I'm not dead. Yet.'

Her body shook with suppressed laughter. 'Then we'll hope for a happy ending as in the tale, eh?'

He smiled but could not sustain it. 'How can I trust you?'

'How can any of us trust, in days like these with an army rampaging down the length of the River Istri, burning and killing as they go? Just like in ancient days, as it says in the Tale of the Guardians: "Long ago, in the time of chaos, a bitter series of wars, feuds, and reprisals denuded the countryside and impoverished the lords and guildsmen and farmers and artisans of the Hundred."'

Nekkar mumbled the next line reflexively, overcome with bit-

ter memory of the Guardian he had met. ' " In the worst of days, an orphaned girl knelt at the shore of the lake sacred to the gods and prayed that peace might return to her land."'

Below, soldiers whipped the detainees out of the square as those in line watched helplessly, unable to flee or to fight.

'I'm a hierodule,' whispered the spy. 'An assassin, sent from the south. I mean to kill Lord Radas, who walks in the guise of a Guardian wearing a cloak of sun. He commands this army. If we can cut off its head, then we can hope the body will die. Will you and your people help me?'

Her words struck him harder than the blows that had felled him. 'Is this even possible? Guardians can reach into your mind and heart and know what it is you intend. I have faced one. I could hide nothing from her.'

'I will do it, because I must.'

She was so sure of herself! Not in a boasting way, but in the way master carpenters surveyed roofs and made pronouncements about what it would take to fix them.

'And when Lord Radas is dead, the soldiers and their captains and sergeants will run away and we'll go back to how it was before?' he asked wryly.

For a while, the assassin remained silent. When she spoke, her words weighed heavily in the humid night air.

'There comes a time when change overtakes the traveler, as it says in the Tale of Change. Hard to say what lies beyond the next threshold. We must be ready for anything.' She brushed her fingers over his hand as a young woman might greet her uncle, not sexually but affectionately. 'I'm called Zubaidit.'

The gesture sealed his heart. 'Very well, Zubaidit. Our resources are limited, but if you can get me back to the temple alive, I'll do what I can to help you.'

'My thanks. Tell me one thing, Holy One. Have you heard they are searching particularly for anyone?'

'Indeed, yes. I heard it from the mouth of a Guardian, wearing a cloak of night. She seeks the gods-touched, and outlanders.'

Her body tensed. 'Would you hide a gods-touched outlander, Holy One? If I brought such a one to you?'

He thought of the man killed in the alley because he had tried to run away to find his children. He thought of the dead in the courtyard of the Thirsty Saw and those being dragged away for cleansing. He considered his apprentices and envoys, whom he

must protect. The army would come round and take a hostage soon enough. But his temple had no protection if they thought to trust to the whims of those who held the whips.

'I will do what I can. That's all I can offer. I'm Nekkar, by the way. We can't climb roofs all the way to the temple. How do you mean to get me home when I can barely limp along?'

'Wait here for as long as it takes to chant the episode of Foolish Jothinin from the tale of the Silk Slippers. After that, move down to the alley behind this warehouse. You keep the rope. Stay on the lowest roof. Do you see it, there?'

'Yes.'

'Be ready to move.'

She slid backward. Nekkar heard faint scrapes, and even that slight noise faded beneath the buzz of soldiers chatting and folk shifting and coughing and crying in despair. A guard slapped a kneeling woman until she struggled to her feet. From off over in another quarter of the city, dogs started barking, and an outcry rose into the night like so many wildings on a howl, as it said in the tales. Soldiers tensed. A man trotted out of the inn and cast his gaze toward the sky, but not — thank the Herald! — toward the rations-warehouse roof.

After an intense shower of noise, the storm of distant trouble quieted, the soldiers relaxed, and the man shook his head and strode back inside as the people in line extended hands toward him like beggars hoping for a handout. His soldiers used the hafts of spears to push them back.

The tale! He murmured the chant under his breath. Wind breathed over the square, marred by a tincture of smoke.

'The brigands raged in,

they confronted the peaceful company seated at their dinner,

they demanded that the girl be handed over to them.

All feared them. All looked away.

Except foolish Jothinin, light-minded Jothinin,

he was the only one who stood up to face them,

he was the only one who said, "No."'

It was one of his favorite episodes, even if it took place in the city of Nessumara, which claimed to be most important of cities in the Hundred when everyone knew Toskala was the holy crossroads of the land, keeper of Law Rock itself. All those

apprenticed to Ilu loved the tale, since Jothinin had been an envoy of Ilu, although not a very good one. His hands twitched, wanting to sketch the tale as the words flowed, but he dared not move, not even at the dramatic conclusion when Jothinin's brave stand was all that prevented the innocent girl from being slain as, with his lengthy speech, the envoy roused the populace into the revolt that would overthrow the rule of brigands and restore the law. His final silence, the gaps in the chant where his words would have gone were he not dying from stab wounds, always made Nekkar's eyes mist over.

The wind turned. He licked his lips, feeling the greasy taste of scorched oil on the air. What was he thinking, to put the apprentices and envoys at risk? How could this self-confessed 'assassin' possibly get him back to the temple with the city under curfew?

Screams burst as fire blazed up in the upper story of the closed emporium on the opposite side of the square. He stared in awe and horror as the people in the square cried out, as soldiers grabbed buckets stored in the fire station. Stone Quarter could burn down! Everyone was running, most for the fire station, setting up lines at the wells, while others dashed away into the darkness of back streets, escaping while they had the chance. The fire bell atop Law Rock clanged in the distance.

Obviously this was a diversion! Time to go.

He scraped palms as he scrabbled for purchase on the tiles, jamming his right leg as he barely caught the gutter instead of tumbling over the drop. Pain stabbed through his left ankle, blinding him. Then he breathed out of it and found the strength to heave himself onto the lower roof and roll to lie precariously along the edge.

'Holy One?' Her voice drifted up from the alley below him.

His anger blazed. 'It could burn down the entire quarter. What of the poor folk who own that shop, whose entire livelihood is going up in flames?'

'Their goods had already been looted.' The assassin's voice was staggering in its calm intensity. 'Anyway, that fire is nothing to what I've seen this army do, and what worse things they'll do if they're not stopped. Now is the time to go, if you mean to come with me, Holy One.'

She was right.

When he threw his legs over and eased himself down, bruised

arms and shoulders screaming at the effort, she caught him. He showed her the way, and she supported him through the empty night streets as the fire drew the attention of the army. Past Lele Square, they reached the temple gate, locked and barred, but the dogs whined to alert the night guard and the small gate was cracked open to allow him in.

She waved him on.

'You're not coming in?'

'Neh. I must retrieve my comrade. We'll return tomorrow night or the next. Watch for us, Holy One.'

Then she was gone into the night, and the gate was closed and barred behind him. As he limped into the dark courtyard, all the envoys and every apprentice flooded out of the sleeping house, crowding him, touching him, weeping with relief, until he thought he would faint for needing to sit down. He was bereft of speech. The fire bell had ceased ringing. Smoke scented the air. One of the night guards called down from the sentry post: 'Looks like it's stopped spreading!'

Vassa pushed her way through the acolytes with sharper words than he had ever heard from one who was always gentle. When she shone lamplight in his face, everyone gasped.

'Gather a few things and sit out here in the courtyard until we know the danger is passed,' she said to the envoys and apprentices. 'Kellas, haul out the litter in case we must carry the ostiary.'

'I can walk-' Nekkar croaked, and put his weight on his twisted ankle. The light hazed. The world spun. Many arms took hold of him and lifted him.

'You'll take a wash and some poultices for your injuries, some food and tea, and then you'll lie down.'

'I must talk to you-'

'Yes,' Vassa agreed, and he realized in a distant way that she was trying not to cry. 'Here, you lads, carry him.'

He was too weary and too much in pain to struggle. Tomorrow or the next night, the assassin had said. Tomorrow would be soon enough to see what trouble he had called down on the temple. They had to be ready for anything.