The Rats and the Ruling sea

16

5 Freala 941

114th day from Etherhorde

A sharp rap of wood on wood. Jorl and Suzyt erupted in howls. On the bench under the gallery windows Pazel jerked awake, hit his head on the window casement, tangled his feet in the blanket and fell to the floor.

It was pitch dark. Outside the stateroom Hercol was shouting 'Madam! Madam!' The dogs bayed; Neeps flopped over with a groan. Pazel heard Thasha sweep from her cabin. They collided; she cursed, pushed a dog to one side, and threw open the stateroom door.

Yellow light flooded the room. There in the doorway stood Lady Oggosk, dressed in a sea-cloak, holding a lamp and a walking stick of pale, gnarled wood. Hercol stood beside her, distressed by the old woman's intrusion but unclear whether to prevent it by force. Oggosk pointed at the youths with her stick.

'Get dressed,' she said. 'We're going ashore. The captain has need of your services, Pathkendle.'

Hercol loomed over her, furious. 'I do not know how you passed through the barrier, old woman. But you give no orders here.'

'Shut up,' said Oggosk. 'You're coming too, girl. Bring a weapon. And bring this valet of yours; he's useful in a fight. The Sollochi runt I will not allow.'

Thasha looked at her coldly. 'We're not going anywhere with you. Are we, Pazel?'

Pazel was distracted by the hope that he was dreaming, and by the memory of Oggosk's threats, and above all by his collision with Thasha's soft, invisible, bed-warmed body moments ago. 'Of course,' he blurted. 'That is — no, absolutely. What?'

Lady Oggosk turned him a scalding look.

'We are at Dhola's Rib. The sorcerer is already halfway to the beach, with his Polylex in hand. If we sit back and wait he is going to learn the secret of the Nilstone's use — today, right under our noses. You won't be bickering with me then. You'll be dead, and so will I, and so will the dream of Alifros. I will see you on deck in five minutes.'

It must have been too small, or too unimportant, to appear on the chart in her father's cabin. As she dressed, Thasha snatched a look at her own Polylex, tearing through the pages by candlelight. Daggerfish. Death's Head Coin. Deer's tongue. Dhol of Enfatha. Dhola's Rib.

In the outer stateroom Hercol was shouting her name. Thasha read only: a thin, curved islet between Nurth and Opalt, abandoned by man. Then she slammed her Polylex, hid it in a place not even Hercol was aware of, and sprinted for the topdeck, still carrying her boots.

The island was invisible as they pulled for shore: Thasha could see only a dark silhouette blocking the stars of the Milk Tree. They were in the twenty-foot skiff, rowing hard but freezing nonetheless, for the wind was carving spindrift from the wave-tops and flinging it in their faces. It was frightening work, making for a shore you couldn't see. Rose held a lantern at the bow; Oggosk sat curled in her sea-cloak. Four hulking Turachs sat behind the duchess, armour clinking as they rowed. Hercol and Drellarek took an oar apiece.

Thasha's rowing-partner was Dr Chadfallow. The man's nearness made her bristle: he lied, he conspired; he had brought the Nilstone aboard in the first place! And despite his help in exposing Syrarys' treachery, Thasha could not bring herself to believe that he'd known nothing of the Shaggat.

On the other hand, Dastu was along. That was a stroke of luck, even though his orders (he'd confided in a whisper) were to keep an eye on her and Pazel. There had been a slight hint of mischief in his voice: enough to let Thasha know that he might not follow those orders to the letter.

A blast of spray caught Drellarek in the face. He growled with fury. 'How did this happen? What fool let Arunis put a boat in the water?'

'No one authorised it,' Rose shouted back. 'The sorcerer launched the dory with the aid of one tarboy — Peytr Bourjon.'

'So Jervik's not the only tarboy he's got his claws into,' said Pazel quietly.

'They are not so far ahead,' Rose was saying, 'and it is always possible that they have struck a rock in this darkness. In that case we will try to rescue Bourjon, and let Arunis drown, as he should have forty years ago.'

'He will not drown,' said Hercol.

'But what does he want out there?' demanded the Turach commander.

Oggosk pulled back the hood of her cloak. 'I told you he has the forbidden Polylex. That book holds more than knowledge embarrasing to kings. Priests and mages feared it too, for what it revealed of their own arts — the worst of their arts, the black charms and curses they would rather keep from the minds of men. Arunis may have stumbled on one he thinks he can use against the power that resides on Dhola's Rib.'

'I hear music!' said Dastu suddenly. Thasha heard it too: a strange, rich, hollow sound, as of many notes played together by a crowd blowing horns. The sound came from the darkness ahead.

As they rowed on the sky began to glow in the east, and the shape of the island emerged. Thasha did not like what she saw. It was a giant rock, nothing more: high and jagged at one end, smooth and low at the other. The ridgetop looked sheer and lifeless.

The landing, however, was not as bad as she feared. The beach was narrow but sheltered and gently sloped, and a sandbar broke the force of the waves. Everyone leaped into the cold surf except Oggosk, who waited until the others had dragged the skiff well ashore before allowing the captain to lift her down.

The mysterious noises blended eerily with the moan of the wind. Soaked and shivering, Thasha glanced up again and saw patches of sun on the ridgetop. A great building loomed there, carved from the native stone. It might once have been a mighty keep or temple, but time and countless storms had melted its edges to a waxy smoothness. The domed roof bulged out over the walls, then tapered swiftly to a weathered peak.

Higher up, where the sand gave way to rock, they found the dory beached on its side, oars tucked under the hull. Rose bent and placed a hand on the gunnel. 'Still dripping,' he said. 'Arunis is just minutes ahead of us. You-' He pointed at a pair of Drellarek's soldiers. '-will remain here and guard the shore. The rest of you will climb with me.'

'Captain Rose,' said Drellarek earnestly. 'Why go any farther? Maroon him here! Tow the dory back to Chathrand and set sail! He's made no progress turning the Shaggat back into a man, and he nearly got us into a shooting war in the Bay of Simja. Let Arunis plague us no more, Captain. With any luck he will starve!'

'On Dhola's Rib men die of thirst before hunger,' said Chadfallow, 'and there are quicker ways than thirst.'

'Thirst, hunger! What do we care?'

'One of my crew is with him, Sergeant Drellarek,' said Rose.

'That Bourjon imbecile?' scoffed Drellarek. 'Good riddance! If he's taken up with the sorcerer then he's long since broken faith with the ship.'

'So did you,' said Rose, 'when you raised your hand against the captain appointed by your Emperor. Listen to me, Turach: I alone will decide who is to be disposed of, and when.'

One side of Drellarek's mouth curled upwards, as though Rose's words amused him, but he said no more. Again Thasha felt her suspicions rise. Whatever Rose was up to, it wasn't about saving Peytr. She had her doubts that he meant to confront Arunis at all. But Oggosk means to, that's for certain.

Oggosk was already hobbling up the slope, leaning heavily on her stick. The others followed, hugging their soggy coats more tightly about them. Soon they were exposed once more to the wind, which was fierce and cold.

Once Pazel stumbled, and began to roll perilously towards a cliff. Thasha, Hercol and Dastu all leaped after him, but swifter than any of them was Dr Chadfallow. With a scramble and a tremendous lurch he reached Pazel and caught his arm, stopping him just feet from the cliff. Breathless, Pazel looked the doctor in the eye. Neither he nor Chadfallow said a word.

Minutes later they gained the ridgetop, not far from its crowning temple, and stepped into the full morning sun. A spectacular sight opened before them. Dhola's Rib was much larger than Thasha had supposed. It was shaped much like its namesake bone. They had landed on the only west-facing beach. The eastern side of the island, however, curved away for nine or ten miles, before sharpening to a wave-swept point. The long beaches there were ablaze with sunlight.

And covering those beaches were thousands upon thousands of animals. They were seals, enormous, rust-coloured seals. They lolled and flopped and surged in and out of the waves, one huge congregation after another, merging into a solid carpet of bodies in the distance. From every pod came the booming, wailing, rippling song they had heard in the darkness. It rose and fell with the gusting wind, now soft, now suddenly high and drowning out all speech.

'Pipe-organ seals!' grunted Rose with a vigorous nod. 'It fits. Yes, it fits.'

'Well I'll be a candy-arsed cadet,' said Drellarek. 'Pipers? Them beasts that come ashore just once every nine years?'

'And on just nine beaches in Alifros,' said Hercol.

'Eight,' said Chadfallow. 'The ninth beach was on Gurishal, where the Shaggat's worshippers have known generations of hunger. One night a few decades ago they heard the singing, and rushed the beach, and killed thousands for their meat. The seals that escaped never returned to Gurishal.'

He shielded his eyes, marvelling at the sight before them. 'To the old tribes of the Crownless Lands these animals were sacred, and to hear their song was a mighty omen. What a stroke of luck to arrive today! Look there, the pups are learning to swim!'

For a moment they all watched in silence. Then Drellarek pointed and gave a belly laugh. 'And the sharks are helping out with the lesson! D'ye see 'em, boys?'

Thasha saw them: the churning dorsal fins, the pups vanishing one after another beneath the darkening foam. Those ashore kept coming, unaware of the carnage farther out. Thasha repressed a shudder, irritated by her response (Hercol would not flinch, her father would not flinch). But laughter? That was worse, abominable. She saw Pazel looking at Drellarek with unguarded hate. Was he thinking of Ormael — the men gutted and thrown from the fishing pier, while her father, in command of the attacking fleet, sat at anchor offshore?

'Ouch! Pitfire!' cried Drellarek happily, still watching the sharks. 'You're right, Chadfallow, you don't see that kind of show every day! Don't look, Lady Oggosk — Lady Oggosk?'

The witch had left them behind again. They hurried after her, climbing straight for the temple. Thasha could now see a curious feature of the building: its windows. They were small, irregular ovals, scattered apparently at random across the domed roof, gaping like toothless mouths.

'That is Dhola's Manse,' said Chadfallow as they climbed. 'It is only a ruin, now, but centuries before the Rinfaith was born it was a mighty cloister, built over the island's only spring. I do not know if anyone in Alifros knows the full story of its builders. They vanished, leaving only a name — Bracek Dhola, Dhola's Rib — and a handful of legends among the shore folk of the western isles.'

'So we don't even know how they died?' asked Thasha.

'It may have been the spring,' said Chadfallow. 'At some point in history the water changed, arising from the depths tainted with oils and harsh minerals. It is deadly, now — and in some chambers, boiling hot. One of those legends holds that outsiders came and seized the temple for a war-base, and killed the priests who lived here. In some stories those outsiders are Arqualis, in others men of the Pentarchy, or Noonfirth, or even some realm south of the Ruling Sea. But all the tales end the same way: with the last priest uttering a curse, and the poisons appearing in the spring.'

They hurried up the trail. The wind grew even stronger, as though trying to blow them sideways off the ridge. Soon Pazel's teeth were chattering. Thasha looked at him and tried to smile.

'Hot water,' she said. 'That sounds blary wonderful.'

Pazel grinned at her, and at all once Thasha felt more hopeful than she had in days. Then Pazel glanced up to where Rose and Oggosk waited in the temple doorway. His face darkened with confusion, and he turned from Thasha with a scowl.

The doorway was a square black hole. The party huddled just inside, out of the wind, as Hercol and the soldiers lit torches. The air inside was warm and moist. Thasha sniffed: there was a strange odour, too, a biting smell, like a harsh drug or mineral spirits. Before them ran a rough stone corridor, strewn with the bones of birds and the leavings of other visitors: a broken sandal, a ring of fire-scorched stones, an obscene rhyme scratched in charcoal on the wall.

Rose beckoned Pazel near. He clapped a hand on the tarboy's shoulder.

'What's on Dhola's Rib?' he said, in the manner of someone asking a riddle.

Pazel looked him up and down. 'I don't know, Captain,' he said at last. 'Seals?'

'Seals, and a sibyl,' said Rose. 'A sibyl, a creature with the second-sight. She could tell you the very hour of your death if she wished. But don't fear her. You're with me, and the sibyl is fond of Nilus Rose. You might say she's an old friend of the family.'

He put two fingers in his mouth, and withdrew something about the size of a peach pit. He held it up for all to see. It was a white stone, carved on one side in the form of a woman's face.

'I've kept this in my mouth since Simja. She likes that sort of thing. Likes her presents to have felt the warmth of human flesh.'

Thasha fought the urge to back away from the captain. He was mad; and his eye had a crafty gleam.

'I have a little question for her,' Rose went on. 'A private matter between me and my kin. But she's tricky, this sibyl. When she comes you have to think fast, and talk sweet. And even if you persuade her you're a friend, she may answer in some language you don't understand. That's where you come in, Pathkendle.'

He put the stone back in his mouth, and placed his hand on Pazel's shoulder.

'Arunis wants her to answer his questions,' he rumbled. 'But he's never bothered to come here before. I have the sibyl's favour, and a present, and a wise witch to help me. And you, lad — you're of great worth to me, this day.'

'Don't forget the girl, Nilus,' said Oggosk. 'She too is here to help you.'

Rose glanced doubtfully at Thasha. 'I'll not forget any aid I receive today. Nor any hindrance.'

He took a torch from one of the soldiers and led them down the corridor. After about twenty yards it ended in two narrow staircases, rising to left and right, and a third, wider, that descended straight ahead. The steps were worn until they seemed half-melted, like steps carved from soap. The middle staircase divided into two some thirty feet below.

'The maze begins,' said Rose.

Thasha saw Hercol and Drellarek exchange a look. The Turach's lips shaped a silent question: Maze?

Oggosk pointed to the left-hand stair, and up they climbed, single file, with Rose leading the way and the Turachs bringing up the rear. It was a stumbling, awkward climb: the corroded steps had no truly level surfaces any longer, and their feet tended to slide. They passed a tiny corridor exiting the stairs, and then another identical. At the third such hallway Oggosk pointed with her stick. Rose left the stairs and crept into the hall, crouching low. Embers fell from his torch as it knocked against the ceiling.

Even in this black, cramped corridor they could hear the wind outside, and the endless song of the seals. They passed many other halls, and took several turns, all chosen by the witch. Once they passed through a little chamber with an iron grate set in the floor. Steam issued from it, and a stronger whiff of that druglike smell Thasha had caught in the doorway.

Then Rose turned a sharp corner, and they were descending again: this time down a spiral staircase, even more corroded and hazardous than the previous steps. The air grew warm and heavy with moisture. Around and around they went, shuffling, choking on torch smoke, until Thasha was certain they had descended much farther than they had climbed.

Finally the staircase ended, and Rose led them down a hallway tighter than any of the others, the Turach's armoured shoulders scraping the walls with every step. The narcotic smell was all but overpowering here. Thasha tensed, aware that some deep part of her was shouting an alarm: You could get drunk on that smell — drunk, or worse. Then they turned a corner, and Lady Oggosk cried, 'Ah! Here we are!'

A great chamber opened before them. It was round, and composed of many stone rings, one within another, descending like the levels of an amphitheatre. The edges of the room were dark: Thasha could just make out a number of stone balconies, some with crumbling rails, and many black corridors leading away.

But the centre of the room was lit by fire. It was a breathtaking sight: a polished stone circle twenty paces wide or more, orange like the sun before it sets. The stone was cracked into a dozen pieces; it resembled a dinner plate smashed with a rock. The spaces between these shards were filled with water, to within a few inches of the top of the stone. And the surface of the water was burning: low blue flames that raced and died and puffed to life again, as though fed by some vapour bubbling up through the water itself.

At the centre of the cracked orange stone sat Arunis, cross-legged, his tattered white scarf knotted at the neck. His back was to the newcomers, and his Polylex lay open before him.

Peytr crouched a few paces away, hugging his knees. When the big tarboy saw the newcomers he rose with a cry: 'Captain Rose! I didn't want to help him, sir! He said he'd kill me in my sleep if I didn't!'

The newcomers filed into the room. Rose, Hercol and the Turachs descended the stone rings towards the room's fiery centre. 'You're a coward and a fool,' Drellarek shouted at Peytr.

'Or a liar,' muttered Pazel.

'Get over here, Bourjon,' snapped Rose.

The big tarboy was panic-stricken. He looked from the captain to the sorcerer and back again. Then Arunis turned his head, showing them his profile.

'Go,' he said.

Peytr ran to the captain, hopping over the cracks with their whispering flames. Rose stepped forward and intercepted him, seizing a fistful of hair. 'Drellarek here thinks I should have left you to die,' he said.

Peytr's eyes pleaded for clemency. Thasha looked at him with a kind of disgusted fascination. There was nothing false about his fear.

'The sorcerer can kill no one, Mr Bourjon,' said Chadfallow. 'Have you forgotten that to do so would risk the death of his own king?' But Arunis, still watching them from the corner of his eye, smiled at the doctor's words.

The captain raised a fist high over his head. Then, gradually, he relaxed his grip on Peytr's hair. He pointed at the doorway they had come by. 'Stand there. Don't move and don't speak.' Peytr leaped to obey, shoving between Pazel and Thasha in his haste.

Arunis turned away once more. He placed one hand on the open Polylex, on a page with a large circular diagram. Drellarek looked sharply at Rose, drew his fingers across his neck. The mage was as vulnerable now as he would ever be. Hercol raised a cautioning hand, and Oggosk shook her head. Rose hesitated, eyes full of wrath and distance. Then he glanced up at Drellarek and nodded.

Drellarek moved with brutal swiftness. He glided softly down to the orange stone, unsheathing his Turach greatsword as he went. Nearing Arunis, he raised it for a single, killing blow.

'Can your witch detect a lie?' said Arunis, without moving.

Drellarek hesitated, looking back over his shoulder.

'She can,' said Rose, 'if her captain requires it.'

'Then ask her the truth of this, you spawn of a toad-faced polygamist: I, Arunis Wytterscorm, have the power to sink your ship whenever I choose, and will do so if you harm me.'

For a moment no one breathed. Oggosk put out her withered hand and took hold of Rose's coat, made him bend to her ear and whispered urgently. Rose's face hardened with repressed fury. He pulled irritably away from the old woman, and waved Drellarek off.

Arunis laughed, closing the Polylex. He tossed the end of his white scarf over his shoulder and rose slowly to his feet. Thasha saw that he had concealed a weapon beneath his cloak: a black mace, studded with cruel iron spikes. She had never seen it before.

'I told you in the Straits,' said the mage, looking them over, 'that I was the sole master of the Chathrand. What you did to my king only delayed the last reckoning. You are my instruments. You are small flutes and horns in the symphony of my triumph. What do I care if you manage the occasional squeak?'

'You monster,' said Pazel suddenly. 'We'll see who plays with whom when Ramachni comes back.'

'Ramachni?' said Arunis, as though trying to remember. 'Ah yes. The mage who enlists you to a deluded cause, then scurries away to safety like the rodent he is, leaving you to fight alone. The trickster who hides under the skirts of a girl, only to cast her off when it seems her life is forfeit. Would he return if you were writhing in pain again, girl? Not sure, hmm? Never fear, you will be.'

Pazel started forward, seething, and Thasha barely had time to grab his arm. Then she saw that Hercol too was moving towards Arunis. His sword was sheathed and his hands were empty; still Arunis took a hasty step backwards, raising his mace. Hercol drew a step closer, well within the weapon's reach. But now it was Arunis who looked uncertain.

'Do you know when a man speaks the truth?' Hercol said.

Arunis gave a nervous laugh. 'Better than the man himself.'

'I thought as much,' said Hercol, and turned away. But when he had taken two steps he moved with a speed not even Thasha had ever witnessed, and suddenly Ildraquin was in his hands, and its tip rested on the soft flesh beneath the mage's ear.

'This is Ildraquin, the Curse-Cleaver, the Tongue of the Hound of Fire,' he said. 'And this is my promise: Ildraquin will end your cursed life if you should ever again touch a hair on the head of Thasha Isiq.'

Arunis sneered, and pushed the tip of the blade away — but gingerly, as if he hated to touch it even with his fingertips. 'Only a fool makes promises he cannot keep,' he said.

'Quite so,' said Hercol.

'We are not here to kill one another,' said Drellarek awkwardly — it was an unusual statement from the Throatcutter. 'Captain, you have your tarboy back. Now let's say we forget that silly sibyl, and be on our way.'

'Save your breath,' said Oggosk. Then suddenly she raised her scrawny arms, so that her gold bangles clattered, and her milk-blue eyes were wide. 'Be still, Nilus! Be still, all of you! We have come in the right year, and the right season for divination. This, now, is the right hour — the only hour, for another nine years. Put out your torches! Quickly!'

'Do it!' snapped Rose.

With some difficulty Drellarek and Dastu extinguished the torches. The room was now lit only by the blue flames dancing in the cracks of the stone. Arunis turned in circles, like a wary cat. Oggosk groped for Rose's arm.

Then she pointed, high across the chamber. There, upon one of the ruined balconies, shone a tiny pool of light. It was daylight, a single focused beam. Tracing it with her eyes, Thasha saw that it had entered by a tiny hole in the domed ceiling. She realised that there were scores of such holes. All at once she remembered the odd little windows in the temple roof. They're not just windows, they're light-shafts. Just like those on the Chathrand that brought light to the lower decks, except that these must have run through immense tunnels of stone, and were so narrow that only a pencil-thin beam of light could pass through.

Suddenly both Oggosk and Arunis began to chant. The old woman's voice was loud and strong, but somehow humble, almost pleading:

Selu kandari, Selu majid, pandireth Dhola le kasparan mid.

But Arunis, though he chanted similar words, cried out in a harsh and threatening voice:

Sathek kandari, Sathek majid, ulberrik Dhola le mangroten mid!

At the same time he drew a grey powder from his sleeve and tossed a handful of it into one of the flaming cracks. It burned in a flash of blue sparks.

Witch and sorcerer were both watching the light on the balcony. The sounds of wind and seals blended into a weird, throbbing moan. Rose looked anxiously up and down the beam of light, from balcony to window and back again. His fists opened and closed; he looked like a man whose time was running out. Of course! Thasha realised. It can't last more than a few minutes. Once the sun moves at all it will be gone.

She felt Pazel's hand in her own — but no, it was Dastu's; the older boy thought she was frightened. She wasn't, or not severely; in fact her strongest feeling was curiosity. Was there a different light-shaft for every holy day in the old monks' religion? Was there a soul alive who knew what they had believed? She looked again at the light on the balcony — and cried aloud, and so did everyone else.

Later, no one could agree as to what had happened on that balcony. They all said that the light had changed, growing less like daylight and more like that of the moon, or fireflies, or something spectral. They agreed as well that someone had appeared. But no two of them saw the same figure.

Thasha saw her mother, waving to her (or to her husband?) with a smile of recognition; then the banister parting, and horror replacing joy as Clorisuela Isiq fell to her death. Sergeant Drellarek saw the woman he had killed six years ago while drunk on grebel, after she insulted his manhood in a brothel in Uturphe. Dastu saw the Etherhorde nurse who had saved him from consumption.

Dr Chadfallow saw Pazel's mother Suthinia, driving him from her door. Hercol saw a grey woman in a silver crown, with two dead boys at her feet, pointing an accusing finger. Lady Oggosk saw an enraged woman sixty years her junior, who nonetheless resembled her greatly, except for the sleek red tail that twitched behind her. Captain Rose saw almost the same figure, but tailless, and with larger, more heartbroken eyes.

Pazel saw his sister, Neda, struggling in the hands of Arquali soldiers who tore at her clothes. But as she fought and whirled, the figure changed. One turn, and she was his mother, shaking her head and mouthing those heartless words: We will never belong among those who belong. Another turn, and she was a woman in the prime of life: a woman of great beauty and seriousness and strength, holding up her arms in a roaring wind. He had never seen her before, and yet he felt, strangely, that he knew her as well as his mother or sister.

Arunis too must have seen a figure, but his reaction was not one of awe, like that of the others. He tossed another handful of dust into the flames, and shouted at the balcony.

'Dhola! Come down! I am Sathek's heir! I am the new steward of Alifros, the hand that moves the Shaggat, the will that bends Empires to my purpose! I shall wield the Nilstone, and loose the Swarm of Night, and scour this world for its new dispensation! Come, sibyl! Come kneel before me!'

On his last words, the light vanished: the figure disappeared. Captain Rose gave a howl of frustration, but Oggosk silenced him with an urgent wave. No one moved. Then Arunis whirled to face the righthand wall.

A new pool of light, small and blue and restless, hovered on the wall above a dark doorway. This time it took no human form. But a voice came from it all the same: a woman's voice, distant as thunder's echo, yet somehow clear as temple bells.

'Arunis Wytterscorm,' it said. 'Great mage, death-deceiver, Elder of Idharin. You whose gifts were given that you might seal the wounds of Alifros, the torn flesh, where the black blood of the underworld seeps in. You who preferred the commerce of devils and wraiths, theft from neighbouring worlds, a shameless auction of your own. Why should I kneel? You are not my elder. And this is my house. No, I do not kneel, but I challenge you: catch me, blood mage! Catch me and drink of my wisdom, or go with my curse!'

And with that the light made a furtive, teasing dart into the doorway.

But Arunis scowled and stood his ground. 'I will not follow where you lead,' he said.

The voice laughed softly. 'And I will not suffer your evil touch. I see what is in your book. You would draw the six-sided prison and trap me inside. But that will never be.'

'Ah!' cackled Lady Oggosk. 'That's your game, is it, mage?'

The blue light emerged from the doorway, slid down the stone rings one by one, and vanished into the flames. A moment later Dastu pointed: there it was again, sliding from the burning water on the opposite side, pausing on a broken step.

'Hercol of Tholjassa,' said the woman's voice. 'Have you come to ask for knowledge, or forgiveness? I think you have great need of both.'

'As do all who walk the earth,' said Hercol, gruff and startled. 'But I do not seek them here.'

'You were always wise,' said the voice, soothingly. 'Love, then — love, which is where knowledge and forgiveness meet; love, which alone is balm to broken souls. You have lived too long without it, warrior. You have fought in its name, but the love was always for others to enjoy. Come and take it, before you grow old, before it is too late forever. For you too carry an open wound.'

Thasha looked with distress at her friend and tutor. Hercol told her so little about his past — nothing of the Secret Fist, next to nothing of what came before it, or after. Was the sibyl speaking the truth? What kind of wound could he be suffering from, and why hadn't she seen it herself?

Again the light began to slide towards an archway. Hercol watched in silence. But when it reached the threshold, his eyes changed. A shocked and naked look stole over him, and he reached out helplessly towards the light. He took a step forward, and Thasha moved to stop him. To her surprise, Dastu's hand tightened on hers.

'Let him go,' he whispered. 'Poor man, let him find her, whoever she is.'

Thasha hesitated, then shook her head. She pulled away from Dastu and rushed to Hercol. At the touch of her hand the swordsman jumped, 'Thasha!' he breathed, like a man waking from a dream.

Thasha glanced up at the doorway, and her breath caught in her throat. Just beyond the threshhold, where the dancing light hovered still, the floor ended in a steaming pit. Hercol had been walking towards his death.

Now the light pulled away from the door, and came to rest at Thasha's feet.

'For you,' it said softly, and almost in a tone of respect, 'I have nothing to offer. For what good is a lighted lamp, or a book lain open on the table, until the reader takes her hands from her eyes?'

Thasha felt her skin grow cold. The sibyl had to be speaking of the Polylex. It was ghastly, however, to realise that a creature that had just tried to kill her oldest friend seemed to be giving the same advice as Ramachni.

The blue light vanished into the flames once more, and when it emerged it began to circle Pazel. Three times it swept around him, and several times Pazel reached out, only to drop his hands swiftly, as if fighting some impulse he knew to be dangerous. When the light spoke at last, it used a strange, inhuman language that made Pazel cover his ears in sudden distress. Thasha had heard it before: it was the unforgettably strange tongue of the sea-murths, who had nearly killed Pazel and Neeps along the Haunted Coast, before helping them to raise the Red Wolf from the depths. Then the light abandoned Pazel and raced to yet another doorway.

'Well, Captain,' said the woman's voice, suddenly bright and airy. 'Twelve years ago you fled my Manse with unsightly haste, and I doubted you would ever return. Yet here you are. Curiosity was ever the death of cats and pleasure-seekers, isn't that so?'

Oggosk glared in sudden anger. Rose bowed his head and said nothing.

'And what can I do for the commander of the Wind Palace,' the voice continued, 'that I could not do when last we met?'

'Accept a gift, lady,' said Rose. 'A small token of my esteem, and an apology for the noise and violence of our last encounter.'

'It is not to me that you should tender your regrets,' said the voice. 'But if you have brought me something, some warm and pretty megigandatra-'

She said several more strange words, and slowly the light descended towards the broken stone once more. Thasha was amazed: despite her coy words, the voice was suddenly childlike, hungry for the captain's gift, trying and failing to hide its eagerness. Thasha reeled at the wonder of it all: they were haggling with a strange and mighty being, spiteful and even murderous, and yet no more immune to loneliness and want than the very beings she was trying to entrap.

'Falindrath,' said the sibyl, as the light crept nearer. 'Apendli, margote, bri?'

Rose turned and lunged for Pazel, dragging him forward. 'Answer her, Pathkendle!' he cried, breathless with excitement.

Pazel waved his hands in protest. 'Captain! I don't speak — I've never heard-'

'You'll do fine! She always talks in riddles! Say whatever you like, but say it sweetly! Here, that's a good lad, take the present, give it to her!'

'When she asks!' hissed Oggosk.

'When she asks!' cried Rose, shaking Pazel violently by the arm. 'Only when she asks, damn it, don't be so eager, she's a lady!'

Hands trembling, he took the carved stone from his mouth and held it out to Pazel. Flabbergasted, Pazel reached for the stone-and squeezed too hard. The wet stone popped like a grape from between his thumb and forefinger. Rose made a wild grab, and only managed to send it flying like a shuttlecock across the room. In the darkness they heard it strike the wall — and then a soft splash.

Oggosk shrieked. Rose dealt Pazel a blow that sent him flying. The sibyl gave a wail of regret, and the enchanted light swept across the floor in the direction of the stone. But as it passed Arunis, the sorcerer's hand shot out and seemed to close on something invisible. The voice gave a cry of pain.

Arunis pulled hard, like a fisherman setting a hook, and grimaced as the light throbbed in his fist. There was no doubt: he had her. And with the Polylex in one hand and the sibyl trapped in the other, he leaped headlong over the flames, up the stones rings, and vanished through a lightless arch.

'After him! After him!' shrieked Oggosk. 'Didn't you hear the sibyl? His book has a drawing of a spirit cell! If he copies it out and imprisons her inside, she'll be forced to tell him anything he wants. Do you understand? Anything! Run, run, you jackdaws!'

The next minutes were mad. The men and tarboys (except Peytr, who crouched in the doorway where Rose had left him) marauded into the darkness after the sorcerer. Thasha started to go as well, but Oggosk grabbed at her arm.

'Not you, girl. You stay here at my side.'

Thasha was incensed. 'Let go! I have to help them!'

'You will be. By staying put.'

'I can fight as well as they can! And Pazel's barefoot, and hurt, thanks to your favourite thug. Why does it have to be me?'

Oggosk slapped her.

'Because I wish it, you arrogant girl! Because I'm your elder five times over! Because you'd still be flouncing about in your nightdress on the Chathrand if I hadn't brought you along!'

Thasha was bleeding; the witch's rings had cut her face. 'Why did you bother?' she asked.

Oggosk leaned close to Thasha, blue eyes shining in the blue firelight. 'Listen to me, you fool. If he succeeds — if Arunis wrests a means of controlling the Nilstone from that creature — you and I just might be able to stop him. It would kill me, and damage your mind forever. But no one else in this world would have a chance. Now shut your mouth and draw your sword. I'd damned well prefer to get out of this alive.'

For Pazel the hour that followed was one of the most desperate, frightened and confused times he had ever known. There was no light, except in chambers where the blue fire gleamed. There were pits and caved-in hallways, and others on the point of caving in. Worse still, a great deal of the level to which they had descended was full of water. Some of it was cool, but most of it was hot — very hot, even scalding. When they neared such waters they were forced to turn back and seek another way.

They could hear the sibyl wailing, her strange voice echoing in the dark. But the depths of the temple were as tangled as the rooms above, and there was no telling into what distant chamber Arunis had fled, bearing his enchanted book and supernatural captive. They split into pairs, groping along the walls, feeling for stairs and holes and drop-offs. Pazel was with Chadfallow, whose hand on his arm felt like a surgical clamp. The darkness was horribly complete; they groped, swore, cracked their heads on unseen walls. Sometimes the passage dwindled to a crawlway; at other times they wriggled through gaps only to find themselves in tiny, tomblike spaces that seemed to shrink as they patted the stones. At every moment Pazel expected an ambush. Chadfallow carried a sword strapped to his back, but Pazel had only his skipper's knife, small and sweaty in his hand. Yet what scared him most was the thought of the unseen, scalding water. He could hear it in side-passages, bubbling and hissing. He thought suddenly of a crab he'd watched Teggatz drop into a boiling kettle. It had died with one twitch of its claws.

Chadfallow whispered constantly, mostly warning Pazel of dangers as they groped down those hideous halls. But at one point he said: 'Find the book. That's all that matters. Until he copies out the design of that spirit-cell he cannot make the sibyl tell him anything. Take the book before he finishes, lad, and then run, run for your life.'

There came a flash of blinding light from the room ahead, and Chadfallow whipped out his sword. But it was only Drellarek and Dastu. They had relit their torches, somehow. Both man and tarboy looked deranged, their faces bright with soot and steam, their eyes wild and twitchy.

'Not a sign of him,' said the Turach, spitting. 'And Rose scalded his blary leg halfway to bacon, stumbling into a pool. I had half a mind to knock him over the head and carry him out of here. But your friend Hercol had other ideas. It almost came to blows.'

'We must stop Arunis,' wheezed Chadfallow.

'We can stop him by sailing away!' Drellarek poked the doctor in the chest. 'You're supposed to be bright. Tell me: is this madness or isn't it?'

'It will be over soon,' said Chadfallow.

Pazel and Dastu exchanged a look. 'Aye,' whispered the older tarboy, 'one way or another. Here, take this.' He handed Pazel his torch.

'Thank you,' said Pazel, gripping his arm with feeling.

Dastu managed a feeble smile. 'Watch them bare feet of yours,' he said.

They parted and went on. It should have been better with a torch, but it was not. There was too little air, and too much of the cloying scent, and the shadows seemed to leap out threateningly at every turn. And now that they could see the walls, they found that many bore hideous murals: sinking canoes, slaughtered animals, men maimed and fleeing through palm forests, warriors lifting severed heads.

Pazel was sweating and breathing hard. Time and again he had to crouch low, out of the worst of the steam, just to catch his breath. Chadfallow fared even worse. He discarded his coat, wrenched his shirt open at the collar. Soon he began to stop, crouching low, gasping as though about to faint. Pazel would creep a few paces ahead, considering the choices, longing for daylight as much as any glimpse of the sorcerer.

Then Chadfallow disappeared. Pazel felt a stab of panic. How could he have missed him? How far had he crept alone? He rushed back down the corridor, around their last two turns. He raised his voice to shout, but the steam burned his lungs so badly that he staggered and clutched at his chest.

The torch spilled all its embers. They lay at his feet, hissing and dying, the only light left in the world. Pazel began to crawl forward, croaking, 'Ignus, Ignus.' After a few yards his hand came down in hot water. He jerked back with a cry of pain. Trapped, blinded, burned. He closed his eyes in despair.

And then something startling occurred. Pazel thought once more of his mother. It was not the same vision as that on the balcony. This time Suthinia was looking at him as she so often had: sternly, but with love. Your Gift, our sacrifices, all these years you've survived on your own. Is this what they were for?

Pazel was shaken. Almost six years since he had heard that voice, but how vividly it came back to him now! He turned and crawled back to the torch, shook the wetness from his hands. Then, using embers that had already died, he coaxed the few live coals back into the mantle. He lifted the torch and blew gently, and soon a meagre flame sprang to life.

Just then a loud wail echoed down the corridor. It was the sibyl, nearer than he had yet heard her — dead ahead, unless the echo deceived him. He went forward on hands and knees, until he entered a taller chamber, where the steam was not as thick. Here he rose, swaying a little. It was an unusual room: painted with images of a rice harvest and grazing animals along a palm-lined river, not slaughter and war. And right across the floor ran a deep, gushing stream in a tiled sluice. The water when he touched it was clean and cool.

There were several exits from the room. Pazel listened for the sibyl again, but no sound came. Then on a sudden impulse, he bent and splashed the water against his face. The feeling was blissful. He cupped more water and soaked his chest, holding the torch at arm's length. He closed his eyes and sighed with pleasure.

The third time he put his hand in the water, something took it and held tight.

He should have been terrified. But recognition came too soon for fear. Gold, a wondrous rush of gold through mind and heart, and joy like sudden deliverance from pain. He opened his eyes and there she was, rising from the water, her face aglow.

'Land-boy,' she said.

It was Klyst, the sea murth who had tried to kill him on the Haunted Coast, only to fall magically in love with her intended victim. Klyst, who had begged him to stay with her, to live enchanted in her people's kingdom in the Gulf of Thol.

She looked strange and unhealthy. Her impossibly thick hair hung like a great mat of seaweed on her head, the hundreds of braided kulri shells merely a limp bead curtain tangled up in the mess. Her gown, which had once seemed a net of lights, was now a threadbare rag that clung like soggy tissue to her body.

But her eyes were unchanged. The love-spell had not broken, though she had never meant to cast it on herself.

'It's really you, isn't it?' he said. 'You're not a phantom, not a trick.'

The murth-girl nodded. She took an uncertain step in his direction. As though he might be the phantom, an apparition that could vanish with a word.

'Klyst, look at you,' he said. 'You're not well. What's happened to you?'

'Nothing,' she said, recoiling slightly. 'It's the waters of this place. They're unhappy. I'll be… pretty again, once I'm back in the sea.'

'You followed me in here,' he said, aghast. 'You've been following us all along, haven't you?'

She nodded again, and flashed him the briefest smile — just long enough to show her glistening, razor-sharp teeth. She put her arms around his neck. 'I followed,' she said, 'because you called.'

Pazel was sure he had done no such thing. He struggled to think — there was no time for this, no time to talk gently, as he'd have to if she was ever going to understand. No time to remember how he'd made her cry.

'You don't come aboard the Chathrand,' he said.

Klyst shook her head. 'Not allowed. Not on the Wind Palace. I'd be trapped there, forever.'

Then she opened her mouth against his shivering chest. For a moment he feared she was about to use those teeth. But no, it was a kiss, right on his collar bone, and he felt the tiny rose-coloured shell — her heart, she'd called it, when she placed it beneath his skin — begin to warm.

You're still pretty, he thought.

Suddenly the sibyl cried out again — in rage or pain, and very near. The wail came from a waist-high tunnel on his left.

Klyst turned and looked down the tunnel. Suddenly she clutched him tight. 'You'll die if you stay here,' she said.

'That occurred to me already,' he said. 'But there's something I have to do first. Can you come with me?'

He led her, crouching, down the low tunnel, in the direction of the scream. It was very hot; and once more the steam thickened around them. He could hear a waterfall, of all things, growing louder as they went. He tried to explain, in whispers, what Arunis was seeking, and why they had to stop him. Klyst listened, anger flashing in her enormous eyes. It was Arunis who had brought evil to her country to begin with.

The tunnel curved. Suddenly a pale blue light glimmered ahead of them. Pazel put a finger to his lips, and set the torch carefully against the wall. They crept nearer. There was the waterfall: steaming, boiling, a lethal curtain of water capping the tunnel. And through it Pazel saw Arunis, distorted but unmistakable. Beside him lay a book that could only be the Polylex.

The sorcerer was in a large cave. It was lit by the same blue flame as the main temple chamber, but here the burning oil ran in rivulets across the floor. Arunis had placed the book on a flat, table-like rock, some ten feet from the waterfall. It lay open. He was studying a page.

As they watched, Arunis suddenly left the Polylex and ran to a spot across the cave, skipping over the little streams of fire. Pazel nearly gasped: there at the far side of the cave stood the glowing figure of a woman. She twisted and struggled, as though trying to free herself from invisible bonds. Arunis was circling her. He held a lump of charcoal, and was drawing an elaborate pattern of words and symbols on the floor.

'A cage,' said Klyst, with hatred in her voice. 'He is drawing a cage for Dhola. A cage of twisted ripestry — what an ugly, ugly, thing!'

'We're too late, aren't we?'

'No,' said Klyst. 'But almost. He hasn't finished the drawing; she can still break free. And he has to draw carefully. One little mistake and the cage will break.'

Arunis returned to the book, placed his finger on the open page. Then once more he left it on the rock, hurried back to the captured sibyl, and started to draw.

Pazel struck the wall with a fist. 'Pitfire! It's right there!' He put out his hand, cautiously, until a fingertip just grazed the waterfall, then jerked it back with a silent curse. The water was scalding.

'I'm going to have to find another entrance,' he said. 'The one he used. Somehow.'

'Leave him,' said Klyst. 'Leave with me. I can make you like you were in the Nelu Peren, when we met.'

Her voice was miserable with longing. Pazel took a deep breath, remembering what it felt like to breathe water, to hear her laughter echoing in the deeps. 'Listen, Klyst, I've never lied to you, do you hear? Not once.'

'You couldn't. You don't know how.'

'You only love me because your ripestry went wrong.'

She stared at him, bewildered. 'What do you mean? Bad ripestry goes wrong. Good ripestry goes right.'

'I'm not a murth!' he said desperately. 'And I don't know what to do about this.' He touched the shell, and she shivered as though he'd just caressed her.

'You know,' she said. 'Cut it out, destroy it. Then I'll be gone.'

'Is that what you want?'

But Klyst just looked at him. That was one question she would never answer. In the cave beyond the waterfall Arunis was again bent over the book. Pazel saw him from the corner of his eye; he could not turn his gaze from the murth-girl. His heart was hammering; she was smiling again, and her eyes seemed to have grown. Damn you, are you weaving another spell?

He forced himself to speak, forming each word with slow concentration. 'Arunis took a stone from the Red Wolf your people used to guard. An evil stone, made of the worst ripestry in the world. If he makes that sibyl tell him how to use it, he's going to become so powerful that no one will be able to stop him. He wants to kill all of us — Rin knows why — and when he's through with humans, you can bet he'll move on to murths.'

Before he had finished Klyst had put her head on his shoulder and started to cry — soft little Hoo's, as if she had already known what he would say, and hoped unreasonably that she was mistaken. He tried to raise her head, but she looked away.

'Go get your book,' she said.

Arunis at that moment was rushing back to the sibyl. And Klyst, releasing Pazel, jumped into the scalding waterfall and disappeared.

It was all Pazel could do not to scream. He lunged forward, reaching out with both hands as close as he dared. She was simply gone. And then a tingling of his palms told him that something had changed. The waterfall had cooled. The edges steamed hot as ever, but there was a band of tepid water directly ahead.

He touched it. She was there, she was standing disembodied in the water. He seemed to hear her voice, shouting Go go it hurts me! And then he plunged through her, and emerged into the cave.

Arunis' back was still turned; he was drawing feverishly. In three bounds Pazel crossed to the flat rock, leaping over the flames. He swept up the book and rushed back, dived again through the waterfall, and for a strange thrilling moment he felt Klyst's body surround him once more. Then he was back in the tunnel. The Polylex was sopping, ruined. He turned to look at the waterfall and spoke her name. But the water was scalding again, and the murth-girl was gone.

Arunis had never lain eyes on him. But as Pazel emerged from the tunnel the sorcerer began to howl. The cries grew quickly fainter, however: Arunis was searching in the wrong direction. Either he had overlooked the dark tunnel, or could not believe that anyone had passed through the waterfall alive.

'Tell him nothing,' Oggosk had commanded. 'Nothing with your voice, nothing with your eyes or your movements or your hands. Do you understand me, girl? Any slip could bring disaster. Let me match wits with Arunis, this time: you'll have your own chance, maybe, after I'm gone. Right now you have nothing to say to him that's not best said with a sword.'

Thasha had sensed the candour in Oggosk, the rare absence of ridicule. So she had held fast to the witch's order, despite the maddening vapours and the heat, and the hypnotic dance of the blue flames in the shattered floor. She was thinking of it still when the sorcerer burst in.

Arunis lifted the mace above his head. 'Where is it, hag?' he raged. 'Which of these bastards took it? Speak!'

Oggosk and Thasha stood flanking the doorway that led up to the temple exit. Beside them, looking rather feeble, stood Dr Chadfallow. He had crawled into the chamber minutes before, drenched and gasping. Peytr crouched a few yards away, silent and fearful.

The old woman leaned heavily on her stick, frowning, studying the mage's face. Then she glanced at Thasha and nodded. Thasha drew her sword.

Arunis descended the stone rings, snarling: 'Do you think I will hesitate to kill her, hag? Do you think me that afraid of Ramachni's spell?'

Still Oggosk said nothing. Thasha's hands were slick on the hilt of her sword. She felt terror surge in her heart — and buried it, as Hercol had taught her to do, under focused observation. The length of the mage's stride. The set of his shoulders. The bulge at the hip beneath his coat, in all likelihood a dagger.

'I knew before I landed that I would kill today,' said Arunis, still approaching.

Chadfallow gave a throaty cry: 'Pazel!'

Oggosk smacked him with her walking stick. Arunis laughed, but Thasha could tell that the laugh was forced. 'The book!' raged Arunis. 'Return it now!'

The witch placed a hand on Thasha's elbow. Arunis began to climb towards them. A look of desperation filled his eyes.

'The agony you risk by defying me exceeds the limits of language, Duchess,' he said. 'Did you not hear the sibyl? I am death's master, not its slave. I will live on when the very dust of this world disperses in the void. You prove yourself capable of some three-for-a-penny spell, the hiding or moving of a book, and you imagine this prepares you to challenge Arunis?'

Thasha risked a glance at the old woman. There was a gleam of satisfaction in the milk-blue eyes.

'Oh no,' said Oggosk. 'I imagine nothing of the kind. No, Arunis, you have nothing at all to fear from me.'

The sorcerer froze. His eyes shifted to Thasha, and narrowed suspiciously. Thasha felt a sudden prickling along her spine. He's examining me! She felt Oggosk's hand tighten in warning: Not a look, not a whisper. Unblinking, Thasha stared Arunis down. The prickling subsided. Arunis went pale.

'You,' he said.

Lady Oggosk cackled, her voice echoing loud across the chamber. Arunis retreated a step, his eyes still locked on Thasha.

'Duchess! Duchess!'

Rose's bellow filled the room. Thasha looked up with a start as the captain and Drellarek staggered into the chamber. A moment later Hercol and the two Turachs appeared as well.

In that distracted split-second, Arunis pounced. Thasha instinctively threw her arms around Lady Oggosk, knocking the old woman backwards just as Arunis swung his mace. Thasha felt a spike on the weapon flick her hair above the ear. She whirled and drew her sword, dragging Oggosk by the arm lest the next blow find the old woman prone. But there was no second blow: Arunis barrelled headlong into the exit corridor, and disappeared. Thasha heard him scrabbling up the spiral staircase as though afraid for his life.

'Let him go,' croaked Oggosk, who had fallen on her back.

Thasha bent to help her. 'Are you hurt?' she asked.

'Pah. I'm not made of crystal, girl.'

The witch was soon on her feet, though she leaned heavily on Thasha's arm. She cackled, delighted with herself. Then she pulled Thasha close and whispered, 'Don't ask what I let him believe about you, Thasha Isiq: you'll get no more out of me than he did.'

Thasha was barely listening. 'Pazel!' she shouted, pulling away from the witch. 'What happened to him, Captain? Don't any of you know where he is?'

Pazel was a long time in returning to the chamber, although he could hear the others shouting his name. He was in pitch darkness again, but the fear was mostly gone. He had crept back to the chamber where Klyst had first appeared, and put his feet in the cool water. He called her name, but neither heard nor expected a reply. Eventually he placed Arunis' Polylex in the stream and let the current bear it away.