Wizard of the winds

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It was just after Last Prayer and the Foolsmire was filling up with thirsty students. Inside the shop Zeman kept an eye on the alley entrance while he handed out books and collected rental fees. The word had come down from Kalasariz that Safar was expected to visit tonight in order to meet with Olari and his group of malcontents. Zeman's orders were to learn the purpose of that meeting and to report back what he found.

Zeman was vastly pleased with himself. His grandfather had been away when the letter from Iraj Protarus had arrived for Safar. Soon as he saw it Zeman thought his fortune was made. As anxious as he'd been to pass it on to the spymaster, he'd first taken time to examine the opportunity from every angle.

He'd been in Kalasariz employ for over a year. He had a small copper chest under his bed filled with money earned from all the information he'd passed on to the spymaster. The Foolsmire was an ideal place to pick up gossip from wine-soaked students and learn of their crimes; past, present, and planned. It was a task Zeman found himself ideally suited for. His awkward ways, bad manners, and sly, short-changing habits had made him an object of derision among the young customers. He'd suffered their mocking remarks for years. Like most insensitive people Zeman's own feelings were extremely delicate and the remarks wounded him deeply. His reaction had been to become more abrasive and to cheat them every chance he had. Once he became a paid informer, however, the jibes no longer injured him. As an informer he was a man of power who secretly repaid every insult with a report that put a black mark next to their names. Also, except for the jibes, no one paid any attention to Zeman when he came near. The students thought so poorly of him they spoke freely in his presence, unaware all they said was being passed on to Kalasariz.

Safar was one of the few regulars who never joined the others in the game of Zeman-baiting. Zeman hated him for it. He saw condescension, not kindness, in Timura. He also strongly believed Safar had designs of his own on the Foolsmire. Look at how he toadied up to Katal, pretending he actually liked the old man and cared what he thought. Zeman saw his grandfather as a crazy, irresponsible old man who lived in a dreamworld where food for thought was more important than food for the table. Katal had the audacity to tell him some months ago that when he died he'd made arrangements for two small bequestsone for Timura and the other for that little thiefbitch, Nerisa.

Zeman had been scandalized by the news. The old man was giving away what rightfully belonged to his grandson. He became convinced the bequests had been Timura's goal all along. Safar was stealing Katal's affection and if Zeman didn't put a stop to it soon the old man would end up handing over all his worldly goods to Safar, leaving Zeman with nothing. As for Nerisa, why it was as plain as a full moon on a cold night that she was in league with Timura. Look at how she played on the old man's weaknessespretending to be a helpless orphan but all the while cozening up to Katal so she could win a place in his home and at his table. Zeman also believed her relationship with Timura was scandalous. He was certain they were sleeping together, which made Nerisa a child whore and Timura a whoremaster who probably traded her around to other decadent men who savored the flesh of children.

Zeman considered it his holy duty to put a stop to it. He'd plotted long and hard to find the rock that would crush them both. The letter, combined with Nerisa's robbery of the stallmaster, had given him that opportunity. When he'd finally delivered the letter he'd added a report linking the two together as conspirators against Walaria.

Now his plan was about to bear fruit. Other evidence had been found against Timura. At least that's what he surmised when the urgent message came that he was to watch Safar carefully tonight and report back all that he'd found. Zeman sensed a crisis cominga crisis for Safar and Nerisa, at least. When it arrived the only thing that would make Zeman's world even more perfect would be if he could rid himself of his grandfather as well. He didn't know how he could accomplish that feat just yet. But he was confident if he were especially watchful the idea would come.

A voice broke into his thoughts: What's the matter with you, Zeman? Got dirt stuffed in your ears?"

He looked up and saw the sarcastic amusement in a young customer's face. I've told you twice, now, the student said, that you've given me too much change."

Zeman glanced at the rental book in the student's hand and the coins on the desk. He'd been so lost in thought that he'd forgotten his original intentwhich was to shortchange the student. He made a quick count of coins and saw that instead he'd returned too much.

"I don't mind cheating you, the student said. The gods know you've robbed me often enough. But that was for your own pocket. This is for old man Katal."

"No one's forcing you to come here, Zeman snarled as he pulled in the excess change. If you don't like I how do business, go someplace else. You won't be missed by me."

Instead of getting angry the student laughed at him. No one cares what you think, Zeman, he said. You don't own this place. Your grandfather does. We only put up with you because of old man Katal."

He grabbed his change and walked into the patio, laughing and telling the others about the encounter. Zeman was about to shout an insult when he saw Timura coming down the alley. Quickly he put out a coin basket and little sign telling the other bookstore patrons to wait on themselves. It was an honor system Katal had instituted long ago for the busiest hours. Zeman disliked the practice and had argued against it many times. He planned to end it soon as Katal gave up his stubborn hold on life and died. But just now it served his purpose.

As he headed for the patio and the crowded tables of wine drinkers someone tried to stop him and hand him money for a book.

"What are youblind? Zeman retorted, pointing at the basket. Put your money there. I've got other things to do."

He rushed out, not hearing the response. His grandfather was at the well, drawing up buckets of cold wine jugs and stacking them on trays. Zeman saw Timura head for a large table in the far corner where Olari was holding court. Zeman was thrilledthe intelligence he'd received about the predicted meeting was evidently correct.

He snatched a tray from Katal's hands. Here, let me help you with that, grandfather, he said to the startled old man.

Zeman ignored the pleased expression on his grandfather's face. He balanced the tray above his head and moved slowly through the crowd. People shouted for service as he passed, but he paid them no mind, concentrating instead on Safar and Olari. Timura's arrival was met with shouted welcomes and Olari rose to greet him, slapping him on the back and then leaning close to whisper something in his ear. Safar laughed as if he'd just been told a grand joke, but Zeman saw Olari pass him a small object, which he tucked into his robe.

Instead of going directly to Olari's table Zeman delivered his tray to the one closest to it. Moving at a snail's pace, he put a jug in front of each person; his focus was entirely on the discussion swirling around Timura.

He could pick up only snatches of the excited babble:…history in the making… teach them a lesson they'll never forget… Umurhan will just shit… it's gonna be the best Founder's Day ever!"

When the tray was empty he stepped over to Olari's table; as usual, no one paid him the slightest attention, other than to order a drink or to berate him for being lazy and slow. Zeman smiled blandly at the insults, gradually working his way toward Timura. He was just at Olari's elbow, bending his head close as he could to hear the whispered conversation between the two, when Safar suddenly looked up and saw him. His eyes were wide as if someone had just said something surprising. Then they narrowed in what seemed to be sudden understanding.

Zeman couldn't bring himself to tear his gaze away from Safar's stare.

He knows, Zeman thought. Timura knows I'm an informer. But that's not possible! How could he?

Then Timura broke his gaze and touched Olari's hand in warning. The young noble snipped off whatever it was he was saying and leaned closer so Timura could whisper something in his ear. Zeman saw him jolt and start to turn to look in his direction, but another warning touch from Timura stopped him.

Zeman calmed himself. His imagination was running wild, he thought. There was no way Timura could know he was a spy. Safar's behavior was the result of guilt, not knowledge. He and Olari were obviously planning something and Timura was smart enough to make sure that not even someone he held in such contempt as Zeman would overhear. But he still felt uncomfortable, so he hurried away from the table on the pretense of fetching the orders for wine.

Safar watched Zeman dodge through the crowd, the empty tray clutched tightly to his side.

"How do you know he's an informer? Olari asked. He's so stupid and lazy, it's hard to believe Kalasariz would ever want him."

"Trust me, Safar said. Or at least, humor me. My information comes from an impeccable source."

Gundara's hissed warning had come just as Olari was discussing the disturbances he intended to stage after Safar's spellcast disrupted the Founder's Day ceremony. Safar had been nearly bowled over when he realized the little Favorite had fingered Zeman. After his initial surprise he had felt pity for poor Katal. His next thought was the realization that it was none other than Zeman who had put Kalasariz on his trail with trumped up charges. Anger boiled over in his belly, rising to sear the back of his throat. It was Zeman's fault that his life and Nerisa's were in danger. Under the circumstances anger was futile, as were any thoughts of revenge that would delay his flight from Walaria.

"You probably think I've suddenly gone mad, Safar said. Insane or not, you can't be harmed by following my advice and being careful around him."

"I don't think you're mad, Olari said. But I do wonder how you got your information."

"I can't say, Safar said.

"Anyone else we should be wary of? Olari asked.

Safar knew if mentioned Ersen, Olari really would think he'd gone crazy. So he said, Look at it this wayif someone like Zeman can be a spy, then who can you trust? The most unlikely person could be a direct pipeline into Kalasariz. Why, even Ersenjester that he iscould be with the enemy."

"Ersen? Olari said. What brought his name into this?"

Safar shook his head. Please, just be careful. Question everything. Everyone."

"Actually, Olari said, Ersen makes more sense than Zeman. His father ran into some trouble with Kalasariz a few years ago. He seemed doomed for awhile, but then suddenly everything was fine again. And he's done nothing but rise in the ranks of the Walarian Council since Ersen started at the University."

Safar didn't respond and after a bit Olari realized he wasn't going to say anything more.

"For a man who doesn't like politics, Olari said, you sure have a talent for wading into it up to your neck."

An hour later Safar lit the oil lamps in his rooms above the old city wall and got out his chest of magical implements. He had an idea for the spellcast he'd promised Olari and he thought he'd work on it while waiting for Nerisa.

The spell links came to him quickly and he jotted them down for reference and then got out a clean casting scroll and his brushes and magical paints. Gundara was busy devouring the sweet rolls he'd been promised and was quiet for a time. As he nibbled on the last of his treats, the little Favorite noticed what Safar was doing and watched with some amusementpicking dried berries and crumbs off his tunic and popping them in his mouth.

Safar used a narrow brush to paint sorcerous symbols on the rough white surface of the scroll, building up the spellcast's foundation.

"You can tell you're a student, Gundara criticized. Too complicated. And do you really want to put the water sign in the center? Most wizards I know shove it in a corner out of the way."

"I'm not other wizards, Safar said. And in this particular spell water goes in the center."

"O-kay, Gundara said. If that's what you really want. But I think it's pretty stupid. He'd finished the rolls and with no other tasties in sight he didn't see any reason for continued politeness.

"You'd better pray I'm right, Safar said, because you're the one who's going to carry it out."

"Oh, that's just wonderful, Gundara complained. Here I am, the product of history's greatest wizardly minds, reduced to student pranks."

"This happens to be a prank, Safar pointed out, that may save your master's life."

"Oh, in that case, Gundara said, leave the water sign in the center. I'll get a new master quicker."

Safar, mind buzzing with the spell cast he was forming, started to get irritated. But when he saw the Favorite licking the sugary remains off his ugly little face he had to laugh.

"You win, he said. He dabbed white magical paint over the blue water sign. Will the right hand corner do, O Wise One?"

Gundara shrugged. Put it where you like. Makes no never mind to me. The Master knows best, that's my motto from now on."

"Fine, I'll put it there, Safar said. Now, what symbol would you suggest for the center?"

Gundara got interested in spite of himself. How about Fire? he said. That's a good symbol."

"Fire it is, then, Safar said, loading his brush with new paint and making red flame-like flares in the center."

"Of course, Lord Asper would've used his serpent symbol, Gundara said. But I suppose he's out of favor with the younger wizards these days."

The name caught Safar by surprise. Asper? he goggled. You know of Asper?"

Gundara sniffed, superior. Certainly I do. You don't spend a couple of thousands years knocking around wizards laboratories and not run into Lord Asper. Of course, his stuff was always more popular with demons. Since he was one. And I don't do demons. That's Gundaree's job. But I've picked up enough about him over the millennia to get by."

Safar pushed the scroll in front of him. Show me, he said, holding out the brush.

Gundara hopped closer and grabbed the brush. Small as it was, it looked like a large spear in the little Favorite's taloned paws. He washed off the red in a water dish and loaded it with green paint.

Gundara lectured as he drew. The serpent had four heads so it could see in every direction. Each head had four poison fangs to help guard the center. He daubed in the long body. And there was a poison stinger on the tail in case the serpent was attacked from overhead. And then up here, right below where the heads join, you need to give the serpent wings so he can escape into the air if he needs to."

When he was done, Gundara stepped back to examine his work. Not bad, he said, even if I do say so myself."

His twin must have uttered an insult, for he suddenly turned toward the turtle idol, which was sitting next to the brazier. Oh, shut up, Gundaree! he snarled. Shut up, shut up! He turned back to Safar. He's so rude, the Favorite said. You can't believe the things he says to me!"

Safar, who was getting used to the one-way exchange between the twins, paid no attention. He examined the scroll and when he was satisfied he made a magical gesture, stirring the air with a forefinger. A miniature tornadoabout the size of Safar's little fingersprang up over the paper, quickly drying the paint. When it was done Safar blew on it and the tornado vanished.

Then he rolled the scroll into a tight tube and gave it to Gundara.

"Keep it, he commanded. When you hear me chant the words to the spell you are to activate it. Do you understand?"

"What's to understand? Gundara said. You humans make such work out of magic. Demon wizards know it all comes from the gut, not the head. They just do it, while you're still thinking about it."

Despite the retort the Favorite did as he was told, collapsing the paper tube into an object the size of an infant's finger and tucking it into his sleeve for safe keeping. For a change, however, Safar was stung by Gundara's comments.

He'd learned much in Walaria. He had a mental storehouse of spells to confront almost any possibility. And he had the sound intellectual knowledge to create new spells to meet eventualities rote learning didn't cover. Compared to the other students and, yes, even compared to Umurhan, he had much greater power. He could feel it surging forward when he cast a spellso strong he had to hold back so he didn't betray his true abilities. Still, the force was nothing like he'd experienced when he'd bested the demons in the snowy pass years before. He'd tried in private many times but he'd never been able to equal the river-like surge he'd felt during that life-and-death moment. The failure frustrated him. At first he tried to tell himself it didn't matter. That magic really wasn't his true purposewhich was to find the answer to the puzzle of Hadin. But the more he'd studied, the more he'd realized the solution would only come through sorcery.

"When I have time, Safar said, which probably won't be until I'm safely on my way home, you and I need to sit down and have a long talk about Hadin."

"Best place in the world, Gundara said. Smartest mortals around. They made me, which ought to be proof enough. Although, somebody sure made a big mistake when they made Gundaree. Probably a human assistant. You know how there are. Of course, anything I have to say will be pretty old news. The gods were still in swaddling clothes last time we were there."

"Anything will help, Safar said. Also I want to hear about Asper."

Gundara yawned. That'll be a pretty short conversation, he said. All I know is what I've heard from other wizards."

"I understand he wrote a book about his theories, Safar said. Have you ever seen it?"

"No. And I don't know anyone who has."

"I think there's a copy in Umurhan's library, Safar said. Among his forbidden books."

"Then why didn't you steal it today? Gundara asked. You could have gone upstairs. I told you it was safe. And once you were inside I could have sniffed it out for you easy. You wouldn't have even had to give me another sweet roll."

"There's wasn't time, Safar said. Now I'm afraid there never will be. I don't dare go back to the University. And after Founder's Day I'll be running as fast as I can. With a lot of angry Walarians chasing me."

Nerisa's voice came from behind them"I can get it for you."

Safar and Gundara turned to see her perched on the window sill.

"I was starting to worry about you, Safar said.

Gundara snickered. Stick with worrying about yourself, Master, he said. She does just fine. I sensed her climbing the watchtower fifteen minutes ago. But you didn't notice a thing until she was inside and announced herself."

Nerisa giggled. She jumped off the sill, dug a sweet out of her pocket and walked over to give it to the Favorite.

"I knew it was my lucky century, Gundara said, soon as you stole me from that stall. He popped the sweet into his mouth, closing his eyes and chewing with great gusto.

"Why don't you go rest for awhile? Safar told him. He gestured and the Favorite disappeared in a cloud of smoke. The turtle idol rocked on its legs as the smoke funneled into the stone. Then all was silent.

"His lip smacking gets to you after awhile, he told Nerisa.

"Never mind that, Safar, Nerisa said. I really meant it. About the book. I can get in and out of Umurhan's place in no time. Especially with Gundara to help me."

"It's too dangerous, Safar said.

Nerisa put a hand on her hip. Nobody's ever gotten close to me yet, she said. What could be so hard about an old library? Let me have Gundara and I'll be back before First Prayer."

Safar shook his head. You don't know what you're saying, Nerisa, he said. Things are a lot worse since last night."

He made her sit down, brewed her a pot of mint tea, and told her an edited version of what he'd learned. He left out the bargain he'd made with Olari, figuring quite correctly that she'd want to get involved.

Tears welled up when he said he was leaving Walaria.

"It isn't safe for either of us, he said. He dug into the heavy purse Olari had given him and pulled out a handful of gold coins. Here. This is for you."

Nerisa struck them away. Coins scattered across the floor.

"I don't want money, she said. I can get money anytime."

Safar gathered them up again. I'm not abandoning you, Nerisa, he said. This is just in case money. If I'm caught, or… there's some other emergency. If all goes well, you can go with me if you want."

Nerisa grinned through her tears. You'd really take me with you? she cried.

"It won't be very safe, Safar warned her. There'll be a lot people after me."

Nerisa threw her arms around him. I don't care, she said. Let them come. I know all kinds of tricks. They'll never catch us."

Safar unstuck her, gently pushing her back into her seat amongst the pillows. You don't have to go all the way to Kyrania, he said. It's a pretty boring place for someone who grew up in Walaria."

"Well, it won't be boring to me, Nerisa said, thinking that for all she cared Kyrania could be the dullest place in all Esmir. It didn't matter as long as she was near Safar.

Safar patted her hand. We'll see, he said. Once we're clear of Walaria we can talk about this again."

"Anything you say, Safar, Nerisa said, dreamy.

Then she yawned and stretched. I'm so tired, she said. Can I sleep here for awhile? I've been ducking and hiding all day."

Safar hesitated. They know to look for you here, he said.

Nerisa yawned again. That's okay, she said. Gundara will warn us if anybody comes."

Safar started to say it was still too big a chance to take. Then heard her breathing deepen and looked over and saw that she'd fallen asleep. In repose she seemed even younger and more vulnerable. Her lashes were delicate fans on her soft cheeks. He could see the fine bones of her face and thought that someday she'd be a great beauty. If she lived long enough to reach womanhood. He didn't have the heart to awaken her. So he banked the coals in the brazier and pinched out the wicks in the oil lamps. He found an extra blanket and covered her. She sighed, clutching the blanket tight and murmuring his name. Safar found a comfortable place a few feet away. So much had happened he doubted he'd be able to do much more than rest. But he'd barely closed his eyes when sleep rose up to carry him away.

It was a dreamless sleep, although once he thought he heard the rustle of fabric and felt soft lips brush his.

The next thing he knew the door crashed open and four burly men rushed inside.

He rolled out of his blankets but before he could come to his feet the men were on him. They clubbed him down and pinned him to the floor.

Then a heavy boot crashed into his head and stars of pain flared. He lost consciousness for a moment, then he heard steel strike flint and he opened his eyes to see Kalasariz standing over him, an oil lamp in his hand.

"Acolyte Timura, the spymaster intoned, you are charged with conspiracy against the crown. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Safar was dazed by the beating. He tried to speak, but his tongue was thick and refused to work. Then he remembered Nerisa. His heart jumped and he turned his head to see where she was. But she was nowhere in sight. Relief flooded inthank the gods, somehow she'd managed to escape. Then another thought pierced the haze. Why hadn't Gundara warned him about Kalasariz approach?

The spymaster held a heavy purse over Safar's head. It was the purse of gold Olari had given him, minus the coins he'd shared out with Nerisa. Kalasariz shook the purse. What's this? he said. Then he opened it and spilled coins into his palm. This is a great deal of money for a poor student to have in his possession, he gloated.

Safar said nothing.

"Where did you get so much gold, Acolyte? the spymaster demanded. And what did you swear to do to earn it?"

Safar still said nothing. What was the point?

Kalasariz kicked him again. It will do you no good to hide in silence, Acolyte Timura, he said. Your fellow conspirators have already confessed."

Safar regained enough wit to say, Then you don't need to hear from me, do you, My Lord?"

The reply won him another kick, this time in the ribs. They hauled him to his feet, gasping for breath.

But he still had presence of mind to look over at the brazier where he'd last seen the stone idol.

It was gone.

The only thing he could think was, Nerisa must have it.

Then Kalasariz roared, Take him away! The sight of this heretic offends me!"

And they dragged him out the door.

"Hsst! Someone's coming!"

A dim light appeared and Nerisa dropped to the ground. She hugged the stone as a dark figure shuffled out of a corridor and headed her way. She was on the top floor of the Universityno more than a hundred feet, Gundara had informed her, from Umurhan's library. The Favorite was a flea speck on her sleevehe'd told her about Safar's method of carrying him about and she'd adopted it.

The shuffling figure was an old priest. He mumbled to himself, cursing the cold stone on his bare feet and muttering deprecations against the devils who had conspired to hide his sandals. He was carrying a small oil lamp with a nearly burned out wick that gave off just enough light to make her nervous. She flattened herself as he walked right up to her, then veered to the side to fumble at a door. He broke wind loudly and Nerisa guessed the door led to a privy. The priest went inside and shut the door.

Nerisa came up like a cat and ghosted down the corridor until Gundara told her to stop because she'd found the library. It was locked, but that only delayed her for a few seconds. She fished a narrow bar from her pocket, slipped it into the keyhole and forced the big tumbler back. In an instant she was inside, quietly closing the door behind her.

The library was a sealed room and so dark she couldn't make out even the largest objects. But she could smell the dusty odor of old books, just like the ones at the Foolsmire, except there was heavy sulfur smell of magic that made her throat feel raw.

"I can't see, she whispered to Gundara.

There was a sudden glow and the Favorite appeared before her full sizewhich meant he came up to about her knee. His body gave off a dim green light and she could see the hulking shadows of furniture and book shelves.

Gundara made a slow circle, sniffing the air. In her pocket she felt the stone idol become warm as the Favorite drew on its magical power.

Then he said, This way, and scampered off into the darkness.

Nerisa followed and they moved along the twisting aisles until they came to the far side of the room where tall bookcases lined the blank wall. Gundara hopped from shelf to shelf until he was eye-level with Nerisa.

"There it is, he said, pointing a glowing talon. Asper in the flesh. Gundara snickered. The book's bound in leather, he said. Get itflesh! Ha ha. I'm pretty funny tonight."

"It must be the sugar, Nerisa said through gritted teeth.

At first she'd thought the Favorite was a cute little thing. She felt sorry for him because he had to live in a hunk of stone. But after several hours in Gundara's company she just wanted to get the job over with and hand him back to Safar. Honestly, he asked such personal questions. Statements, actually. Like accusing her of being in love with Safar. Which was true, but it was none of his fiendish business.

Gundara gripped the edge of a slender book and heaved mightily. It came out so fast he lost his balance. He squealed as he fell, scaring Nerisa half to death. She caught him in midair, but the book slammed to the floor, echoing loudly.

"Be careful, she whispered. You'll wake them up!"

"Oh, piddle pooh, the Favorite saidalthough he did whisper. You could shout at the top of your voice and those old gas bags would never wake up."

"Just the same, Nerisa said, I wish you'd be more quiet. I'm used to working alone and loud sounds bother me."

"You're a pretty good little thief, dearie, Gundara said. But I bet you wish you had me around all the time. You'd be rich! We'd steal everything that wasn't nailed down."

"Riiight, Nerisa said, bending down to pick up the book.

It was thin and seemed to contain so few pages Nerisa feared Safar would be disappointed. The leather was cracked and old, but from the light Gundara gave off she could see the worn image of a four-headed serpent.

"That's Asper's book all right, Gundara said. There's probably not more than five or six in the whole world. He preened, proud of his work.

She started to fish a treat from her pocket to reward him, when he suddenly saidquite loud"You shut up, Gundaree. You couldn't of found it if it were on fire. So there. Don't you call me that! Shut up, you hear me? Shut up! Shut up! Shu"

Nerisa clamped a hand over his mouth, cutting off the rest.

"Stop that, she said. Or I'll wring your neck. I swear I will."

When she took her hand away Gundara hung his head. He kicked at the floor with his elegant little foot. I'm sorry, he said. He just gets me soooo mad, sometimes."

"Just don't do it anymore, Nerisa said. Then she gave him the treat.

Gundara grinned and gobbled it down. I like you, dearie, he said. I hope Safar gives you a nice little diddle after he gets the book."

"Don't talk like that, Nerisa said. It isn't nice."

"But it's what you want, isn't it? the Favorite teased. A big old sloppy kiss and then get diddled all night."

Nerisa tucked the book away with the stone idol. That's enough, she said. And if you say one word like that to Safar, I'll, I'll… never speak to you again. See if I don't."

Apparently this was a greater threat than a neck-wringing, for Gundara instantly apologized and said he'd never, ever do such a thing. Then he led the way back to the library door, shrunk down to flea size again and they slipped out into the corridor. After an hour of creeping about in the dark, Nerisa sprinted through the big main gate and headed down the broad avenueleap frogging from shadow to shadow as she made her way back to Safar's place.

She arrived just as Kalasariz and his men were dragging Safar down the stairs.

It was a night of terror in Walaria. Kalasariz men swept through the city, breaking down doors and hauling frightened young men into the streets where they were beaten and questioned under the shuttered windows of their families homes. Then they were taken to the spymaster's torture rooms where they were questioned further and forced to sign confessions. There were about fifty in all, although less than half were acquainted with Olari. The others were innocent, but had been marked for seizure by Kalasariz informers who did a record business that night collecting bribes from enemies of the young men and their families.

Justice was swift. There was no trial, nor were any of the condemned present when a High Judge sentenced them to death. The mass execution was set for the following daywhich happened to be Founder's Day. Town criers went through the city, shouting the news of the executions and posting notices listing the names of the condemned and their crimes.

At the top of the list was the name of the ringleaderone Safar Timura, foreigner.

At the bottom of the list was the name of one of his dupesOlari, citizen.

"Apparently I misjudged my family's influence, Olari said.

Safar wrung out the rag, freshened it from the pail of cold water and wiped the blood from Olari's face. He had been beaten so badly his head was swollen to half again its size.

"You always were a master of understatement, Safar said.

Other than the bruises he'd suffered when he was captured, Safar was unscathed. For some reason he hadn't been tortured and his confession"an unsigned document with Kalasariz sealhad been good enough for the High Judge.

"The real pity of it is, Olari said, I'm not even getting any credit. I'm to go down in Walarian history as a mere minion."

"And I the minion in chief, Safar said. On the whole I'd rather pass on the honor. But Kalasariz was quite insistent. You know how persuasive he is."

"My father most likely paid a handsome sum to have me listed as a dupe of your devilish tongue, Olari said. Protecting the family honor and all that. Stupid, I guess, is better than king of the traitors."

The two young men were in the company of six other youths, all suffering from the ghastly work of the torturer. They were slumped in the center of the cell, barely able to chase away inquisitive insects and rats. All eight of them were to be beheaded by Tulaz, the master executioner. The others, crowded in nearby cells, would be parceled out in lots five or less to ten other executioners.

"There is one consolation, Olari said.

"What's that? Safar asked. I could use a bit of cheering up."

"I'm to go last, Olari said. Which means whether Tulaz succeeds or fails, I'll be remembered. If he strikes off my head with one blow, I'll be helping him break his record. If not, why I'll go down in the wagering books as the one who ended Tulaz remarkable streak."

Safar laughed. It was a bitter sound. I wish I could be there to see how it turns out, he said. Unfortunately, I go first."

Olari tried to laugh. A sharp pain in his ribs turned it to a low groan. When he'd recovered, he shook his head, saying, I always was"

His words were cut off by a coughing fit. Safar held him until it stopped. Then his companion spit blood into the pail. There was a plop as one of his teeth fell into the water.

He looked up at Safar, grinning a bloody grin.

"What I was trying to get out before nature so rudely interrupted me, Olari said, was that I've always been a lucky dog.

"And it looks like that luck is going to stick with me until the very end."