Voice of the Gods

16

When the horizon had taken on the form of an undulating shadow the previous day, Auraya had assumed she and the Siyee were headed toward low hills. Now it appeared the smooth, gentle lines of these landforms were much larger than she had first thought. Used to the jagged peaks of Si, she did not realize these were the mountains of western Sennon until their scale became apparent.

She could feel the excitement of the Siyee. They were looking forward to leaving the desert and just as their water carrier was burdened with a heavy load, so was she. Extra skins were tied to her back and, with Mischief safely curled up in her pack, she felt as if she was covered by a heavy, lumpy blanket.

The desert had served up more difficulties than they had imagined it could. At first they had flown directly across it, but a dust storm had blown them back toward the coast. Since the Siyee could not carry much, they relied on finding water along the way. Mischief had shown them where to dig for water a few times and they encountered a lonely well once, but these had not been enough.

They dared not land at any landwalker settlements. The Sennon emperor’s policy of allowing the practice of any religion in his country meant that Pentadrians could be living in the desert villages. If they were, a group of Siyee warriors seen heading south was sure to be noted and reported to the Pentadrian leaders. Even if there were no Pentadrians in the villages, it was still possible that an ordinary Sennon villager would decide there was profit to be gained in delivering the news to the nearest Pentadrian.

Most settlements were on the coast, so the Siyee kept inland. They had expected to find the occasional river but had encountered only one thread of muddy, near-undrinkable water. It probably flowed cleanly at other times, but in the middle of summer it had dwindled to a sluggish stream. Auraya hadn’t visited Sennon before, so she could not advise them. All she could do was fly back to the closest water source each morning to refill their skins.

The mountains ahead gave the Siyee hope, but Auraya wasn’t so optimistic. They associated mountains with water, but that was not always true. These peaks were well eroded, yet it looked as if rain hadn’t fallen here in centuries. The sparse vegetation was bleached a pale yellow. There wasn’t a hint of green anywhere.

The group had begun to descend, though no order had been given, toward the closest of these sprawling mountains. At the base was the winding indentation of a dead river, heading toward the ocean to their right. Between it and the mountain, the land had eroded into terraces.

Then Auraya felt amazement from one of the Siyee. Seeking his mind, she read that he thought the terraces were not natural. She looked closer and realized that he was right. There were roads as well, and tiny shapes that might be the remains of ruined buildings. The spread of them across the side of the mountain suggested a city. A long-dead city.

Other Siyee noticed the ancient metropolis and pointed it out to fellow warriors. To her amusement, the sight made them intensely curious. They wanted to land and explore. She watched Sreil consider.

Exploration of ruins isn’t the purpose of our journey, he thought, but if a city once stood here then there must have been water about. Perhaps only the river, but those terraces look like they might have been fields and how would they have brought water up to them? Perhaps there once was a spring up higher... well, there’s just as much chance of finding water here as anywhere else...

At his order to head for the city, the mood of the other Siyee brightened. While the desert tested their bodies, it offered little to occupy their minds. The whistling games they had played at the beginning of the journey had been abandoned when their mouths had dried out with thirst.

Auraya looked at the Siyee priest, Teel. He did not wear the circ as it hampered flying, but instead wore a smaller circle of white material tied closely about his throat. In her opinion, he had been prematurely ordained. He was inexperienced and had less grasp of magic than an initiate. Yet the gods had given him the task of reporting to Juran every day, not Auraya. She felt vaguely irritated by that. She was a former White and the Siyee’s protector. But he was a Siyee and she a landwalker, and that must matter more.

Of course it doesn’t, she thought. It’s just another way the gods are demonstrating their distrust of me.

Searching the magic around her, she was relieved to see none of the gods were present. Though Teel hadn’t been given specific orders, she suspected the only reason this young man had been ordained early was so that a priest could keep an eye on her during this mission.

Yesterday Auraya had heard a Siyee wonder aloud why the gods hadn’t ensured there would be clean water for them. Another had muttered annoyance that the gods didn’t at least guide them to sources. A third had observed that they probably would have died here if Auraya hadn’t accompanied them.

Teel had overheard and quietly told them the gods were not their servants. Auraya had smiled at that, but she suspected the gods simply couldn’t do either. They weren’t aware of anything in the world that wasn’t observed by a human or an animal, so if no human or animal was aware of sources of water nearby, or how to get to them, then neither were the gods.

The only humans who could have given the Siyee guidance, Sennon guides, couldn’t fly. Even if the White had trusted one enough to send him or her to meet and advise the Siyee, he would not have arrived in time to help them. The distance was too great.

One of the Siyee whistled their signal for “Tracks!” and Auraya followed the direction of his gaze. A line of stirred sand led from the city to the river then along the dry watercourse toward the sea. Or in the other direction. Perhaps the city was already host to passing visitors.

It was a good sign, though. No traveller would ascend into those terraces unless there was a good reason, and water was a likely good reason.

She caught up with Sreil.

“Shall I check if they’re still there?”

He whistled an assent. Auraya propelled herself into a dive, heading through the dry air toward the tracks. She felt Mischief stir awake.

The footprints wound along the river through strange pinnacles of rock that turned out to be buried towers, then up to the beginning of a road. There they grew difficult to follow, as the roads were not always covered in sand. She flew about slowly as if searching.

Which was all for show. She could sense no minds in the city, but she couldn’t tell the Siyee that without revealing to the gods that she had developed the telepathic Gift they had previously given to her when she was a White.

Flying back to the Siyee, she whistled the signal that all was safe. The Siyee circled around the city before landing, a cautious habit rather than any distrust of her assessment. Once on the ground, Sreil ordered them to set out in pairs to explore and search for water. Auraya shrugged off her pack and opened it. Mischief blinked in the sudden bright light.

She hadn’t wanted to take him on this journey, but couldn’t bring herself to force him to stay behind. Since she had returned to the Open he was constantly by her side, and had grown distressed whenever she made him stay behind in the bower. No longer able to sense her mind, being near her was the only way he could reassure himself that she was still alive. Fortunately he was content to remain curled up in the pack during flight, and he had proved himself both useful and entertaining to the Siyee.

Whispering in his ear, she sent him a mental impression of water. His nose twitched and when she set him down he trotted away. She followed.

The sunlight beat down relentlessly and reflected off stone to assail her with heat from all directions. She realized after a few turns that Teel had chosen to follow her, and she resigned herself to the inevitability of being followed everywhere by the priest.

“How old do you think this place is?” he asked after a while.

She shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Look.” He walked up to a large stone in a wall and pointed to markings. “Can you read this?”

“No.”

“You understand many languages, don’t you?”

“Yes. That doesn’t mean I can read them, though.”

“I should copy this,” he said. “If the priests in the Open don’t know what it says they might know someone who does.”

As he drew a scrap of leather out of a pouch she smiled, but her amusement quickly faded. He was a scholar at heart, not a warrior. She would not find it easy to forgive herself if he died in this attack, though she couldn’t be completely sure he was only here because of her.

Mischief had disappeared, not caring whether the priest followed or not. Auraya hurried around a corner and came upon a large archway that looked as if it had been carved into solid rock. The sound of her footsteps in the entrance echoed in a way that suggested a large space inside.

“Owaya?”

“I’m coming, Mischief,” she replied.

As she stepped out of the sunlight her eyes began to adjust. A short corridor led to a huge hall. At the far end an enormous figure was just visible in the gloom. A statue. She shivered at the size of it.

Drawing magic, she created a spark of light and sent it up toward the ceiling. Brightening it, she felt a thrill of wonder as the statue was illuminated. It had a muscular male body, but the face was a flat disk with one enormous lidless eye. Mischief stared up at it with wide eyes.

One of the old gods, she thought. Long dead.

She heard a gasp behind her and turned to see Teel gazing at the statue in horror. A look of disgust crossed his face.

“Things like that should be destroyed,” he said.

She stared at him, disturbed. The god was long dead. What threat did the statue hold now? To destroy something so amazing would be spiteful and pointless.

“Perhaps,” she said slowly, “such things should be kept to remind us of the Age of the Many, and of the chaos that enslaved mortal man until the Circle saved us.”

He looked at her blankly, then became thoughtful. “If the gods willed it to remain, I suppose it could be used to shock those with rebellious hearts.”

Auraya suppressed a sigh. There were zealots and fanatics in any race. It looked as if the gods had found one among the Siyee.

The buzz of thoughts at the edge of her mind suddenly grew louder. Other Siyee had found water - a great pool of it deep within another hall like this one. She let her light die and called to Mischief. A little shadow bounded out of the darkness into her arms and climbed up onto her shoulders. Auraya walked past the priest into the sunlight.

“Let’s see how the others have fared, shall we?” she tossed over her shoulder.

Rising from his seat, Danjin walked to the narrow window and looked out at what served as Dunwayan cosmopolitan life. Below him servants and traders hurried to finish their tasks before the night curfew, while warriors strode about with the confidence and arrogance of men who considered their position of power in society as their natural right. The stone houses they lived among were built in an orderly pattern between rings of high walls. Beyond the last wall he could see the Dey River winding away toward the distant ocean.

Chon was a fortress, but as the largest fortress in Dunway it also had the role of administrative capital. To get there, Danjin and Ella had sailed to the mouth of the Dey River where they were transported by barge to the fortress. Reaching Chon, they had been greeted with typical Dunwayan formality - brief and efficient - and were taken to the quarters the White always occupied during visits: a wing of the innermost part of the fortress.

The rooms were small and the walls bare stone. Furniture was simple and heavy, yet the rugs on the floors and walls were colorful and finely made, if a bit crude in design. Most depicted famous battles and Dunwayan leaders and warriors, always watched over by the god Lore.

I-Portak, the Dunwayan ruler, was neither hereditary king or elected counsellor. Danjin had never met anyone who knew all the complexities of the Dunwayan method of selecting their ruler. It seemed that anyone could declare themselves ruler, but holding the position depended on the agreement of important warrior clans. The claimant could be challenged by a warrior willing to fight for the position, yet if the challenger won and the warrior clans didn’t approve of him, he could not keep the position.

Despite this, when the last ruler had died the process of selecting a replacement had been free of challenge or argument. I-Orm’s son had taken his father’s place without a murmur of dissent from his people. At least, Danjin hadn’t heard of any. The Dunwayans were not ones to complain loudly. When the likely response to rebellion was a challenge to the death, one tended to keep one’s opinions to oneself unless sure of winning.

“The light is dimming,” Ella said. He turned to see her sigh and reluctantly put her spindle aside. “Another day gone and still no progress. How long do you think it will take before they let me do my job?”

“Subtract their respect for the gods and the White from the depth of their pride, add their eagerness for us to leave, and take some lingering resentment for the White’s attempt to dissolve the sorcerer Scalar over a decade ago, and you’ll have the moment they offer their reluctant cooperation.”

Ella chuckled ruefully. “You told me they were a straightforward and economical people.”

“Compared to other Northern Ithanian peoples, they are. You have to let the clans try to find the culprits for you. It’s a matter of honor.” Danjin moved away from the window. The air was quickly growing chilly. The Dunwayans believed heating and window coverings made one weak, that sickness was caused by too little action, food, sex, or either sleeping too much or too little.

Hmm. Maybe we can use that to our advantage, he thought. We could say Ella doesn’t want to remain cooped up and inactive too long lest she fall sick. But they might decide the solution to that is to send her out to one of the female warrior clans for a few bouts of fighting practice. I doubt she’d appreciate that.

“Well, at least I’m getting something done,” Ella murmured, looking at the basket beside her. Most of the fleece was gone, and the thread she had produced had been twisted together into yarn and wound into neat balls. Danjin had found the deft movements of her spinning and twirling a little hypnotic to watch. He had no idea what she would do with it next.

During the day they were mostly left to themselves, but every night they visited local clan leaders or dignitaries of other countries. Ella took the opportunity to read the minds of everyone she encountered, including the servants.

“They’re more like slaves than servants,” she had told Danjin. “All they get for their work is food and a roof over their heads. They can’t marry and raise a family without their master’s approval, and their children work from the moment they can be put to use. Nobody taught me about this when I learned about Dunway as a priestess.”

He had to agree about the servants’ lives, but reminded her that the Dunwayans had lived this way since the god Lore had adopted them as his own people. “And how servants live is hardly a subject likely to capture the attention of a class of young initiates,” he had added.

She had shaken her head at that. “Injustice always captures the attention of the young,” she said. “But as we get older we discover how difficult it is to change the world, and we learn to turn our eyes away from what we can’t fix until we no longer see injustice at all.”

“Not all of us,” he told her. “Some of us still look for ways to make improvements.”

Ella rose and moved to the window. “The man we’ll be seeing tonight is well known for his cruelty toward his servants.”

She stared out silently, her eyebrows knitted together. He suspected she was scanning the minds of those below and said nothing, not wanting to distract her.

A knock came at the door.

“Gillen Shieldarm, Ambassador of Hania, has come to fetch Ellareen of the White and Danjin Spear, Adviser to Ellareen of the White, and take them to the house of Gim, Talm of Rommel, Ka-Lem of the Nimler clan,” a voice bellowed.

Danjin smiled and walked to the door. The habit of yelling such a greeting from behind a door was Dunwayan, but the greeting had been spoken in Hanian. He opened the door to find Gillen grinning widely.

“You can just knock,” Danjin said. “We won’t think less of you.”

“Ah, but that wouldn’t be as amusing,” the ambassador replied. He looked over Danjin’s shoulder. “Good evening, Ellareen of the White.”

“Good evening, Fa-Shieldarm,” she replied. “We have been waiting for you.”

He gestured to the corridor behind him. “I would be most honored to guide you to the abode of our guest.”

“Thank you.”

She stepped past Danjin. Closing the door, Danjin followed as she and Gillen started down the corridor.

Soon they had left the wing and emerged into the chill evening air. Each section of the city was separated by a well-guarded gate. Each time they reached one of these Gillen produced an amulet which the guards examined before they ordered muscular servants to haul open the gates. After passing through three gates, they arrived at a stone house distinguished from its neighbors by a large shield carved into the door, painted in bright colors.

“The house of Gim, Talm of Rommel, Ka-Lem of the Nimler clan,” Gillen told them. He knocked, then bellowed their names and purpose.

The door creaked open. A servant bowed then silently gestured into the room. Ella stepped inside, followed by Danjin and Gillen.

They entered a large hall furnished with a huge wooden table already crowded with men, women and children. If it were not for their smiles and laughter, the tattooed faces might have made it a ghoulish scene. The patterns accentuated their expressions, so that a frown looked like a scowl, and a smile a grin.

Danjin recognized a few of the people and guessed that most present were of Gim’s clan. The servant hurried away to speak to a large Dunwayan man at the head of the table. This was Gim, a proud and arrogant man even by Dunwayan standards.

The man stood and beckoned to them with expansive gestures.

“Ellareen of the White. Welcome to my home. Come join me.”

Gim waved at the people sitting around him. At once they shuffled along the bench seats to make room. Ella sat down with dignity and accepted a goblet of fwa, the local liquor. Danjin squeezed in beside her.

Danjin sipped his own drink only enough to, hopefully, satisfy his host. He listened as Ella and Gim talked, recalling details about the clan that he had learned before and after they had arrived in Chon. He also kept his eyes on the other people at the table, aware that he was an extra pair of eyes to Ella.

At some signal from Gim, servants began to bring plates of food out to the table. Gim sliced a haunch off a roasted yern with a knife shaped like a miniature sword, and then the other guests began to help themselves and chatter. An argument broke out between two boys, one of whom had taken an entire girri for himself. When the boys began to shove each other one of the men got up, hauled them both out of a door and told a servant not to let them in until they’d fought it out. Returning to the table, he took the girri for himself.

Danjin then felt Ella’s elbow press against his arm. He realized he’d lost track of her conversation with Gim.

“... know the Pentadrian way of life appeals to many of your people,” she said.

Gim’s eyebrows rose. “What is so appealing about the way they live?”

“Only criminals are enslaved there.”

The clan leader frowned at her. She shrugged.

“That is how they see it.”

“Are you saying we may have spies among our servants?”

“Probably.”

He glared at the servants in the room. “I shall question them all.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “That would disrupt your household unnecessarily. A clever spy deflects attention from himself to others when he knows there’s a hunt on, and you could end up executing innocent and useful people. Better to set a trap.”

Gim grunted his reluctant agreement. “What do you suggest?”

“Obviously we can’t discuss the details here,” she said, smiling. “Someone who knows your household well would be better able to suggest an effective trap than I. You must have a few servants that you trust?”

The clan leader scowled, then changed the subject. As the night grew older, Danjin was sure he detected a change in Ella. She seemed more genuinely cheerful than she usually was during these dinners.

:I am, her familiar voice said in his mind. I’d never give Gim the satisfaction of knowing this, but his habit of treating his servants badly has worked in our favor. There are plenty of Pentadrian sympathizers here, and more than one of them has decided it’s time to make his escape. Tomorrow we shall see who aids them.

Progress at last, he thought. No wonder she looks happier.

Gim belched loudly, then called for more fwa.

:Yes. And I have to admit, I’m finding Gim more entertaining than I thought. He’s every bit the clichéd warrior brute Dunwayans are made out to be. Eating with his hands, talking with his mouth full, making crude jokes and drinking too much. What next?

He’ll probably call in the dancing girls, or some wench to fondle.

:I don’t think even he would... oh.

Danjin smiled as two men walked into the room playing pipes and drums, followed by four Dunwayan women wearing a lot of jewellery, but not much more.

At least that answers one question that’s been on my mind, Danjin thought wryly. Their tattoos really do go all the way down.

This time Ella’s elbow somehow managed to reach his ribs, and with considerably more force than before.

17

The rosy light of dawn tinted the sky beyond Reivan’s window when she woke. She felt a mingled relief and disappointment. Relief that she hadn’t slept late again, but disappointment that she didn’t have cause to.

Rising, she went to the basin of water and washed herself down. The moisture on her skin was pleasantly cool, but dried quickly. Soon she would be sweating in the heat of another midsummer day, but at least she would stink of fresh sweat rather than stale. She wished she could say the same of the merchants and courtiers that she had to deal with.

Dressing in her robe, she left her rooms and started for her office, pausing only to tell a domestic to have food brought to her. Several Servants were about. They nodded respectfully at Reivan as she passed.

Suddenly her sandal loosened and nearly tripped her. She stopped and steadied herself with one hand on a wall while she inspected it. A strap had come apart from the sole.

“... why he chose her. She’s not beautiful, or even pretty,” a voice said.

Realizing that the voice belonged to one of two female Servants she had just passed, she paused to listen.

“She’s supposed to be smart. Former Thinker, they say. Maybe they play mind games while they’re... you know.”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

Reivan found herself smiling. So the other Servants had heard about Nekaun’s nocturnal visits to her rooms. Were these two jealous?

“From what I hear, his attention is hard to keep. He gets bored easily.”

“She’s wise to keep it quiet, then. It’ll be humiliating enough when he moves on. Wouldn’t want the whole Sanctuary to know, if I were her.”

“The whole Sanctuary does know.”

Reivan felt her stomach sink. She drew off the sandal and took a few steps, no longer wanting to eavesdrop. But with only one sandal, walking was awkward and ungainly. She stopped to take off the other.

“... rather have him for a little while than never,” one of the Servants said.

“Me, too.”

That ought to have cheered her, but it didn’t. Her stomach sank further. He’s been visiting me for months now, she thought. If he was only doing it for entertainment, surely he would have grown bored after a few nights? I’m not exactly a goddess of the bedroom.

Days. Weeks. Months. Years. What did it matter? He was immortal, powerful and beautiful. She knew she could not expect to hold his attention forever, yet she could not imagine life being any different than how it was now. Sometimes she struggled to comprehend how she had existed before.

I’ve never been this happy. Or this anxious. I must be in love.

With sandals in one hand, she continued on. When the next domestic appeared she stopped him, gave him the sandals and told him to arrange for someone to bring her a new pair. He made the sign of the star and hurried away.

Though she tried to turn her thoughts to the work ahead, the words of the Servants kept creeping into her mind.

“He gets bored easily.”

Maybe Nekaun was growing bored with her. He hadn’t visited last night and the previous evening his visit had been brief.

Too brief, she thought. He seemed distracted, as if his mind was elsewhere and only his body was present.

“Companion Reivan.”

She stopped and turned, surprised to see Imenja striding toward her.

“Second Voice,” she replied, making the sign of the star.

Imenja smiled. “Come with me. I want to ask you something.”

They were only a short distance from Reivan’s office, yet Imenja walked to a stairwell and began to climb. Reivan followed, conscious that her feet were still bare.

They climbed up into one of the towers in the lower levels of the Sanctuary. The stairs led through a hole in the floor of the topmost room. Open arches gave a view all around.

Imenja moved to the side facing the city.

“We shouldn’t be overheard here,” she murmured. She turned to face Reivan. “Nekaun left early this morning.”

“Left?” Reivan repeated. “To go where?”

“I don’t know,” Imenja replied. “Nobody does. I was hoping you would.”

Reivan shook her head. “I haven’t seen him since the night before last.”

The Second Voice smiled and turned to regard the view.

“Well then. He’s gone and left us all wondering.”

“The other Voices?”

Imenja shook her head. “They’re just as perplexed as I am.”

Reivan looked away. “He was a bit distracted the night before last.” As she said it, she felt her face warming. “He didn’t tell me he was planning to leave.” She felt a stab of hurt. Surely he could have confided in her. Didn’t he know he could trust her?

But he couldn’t tell her anything he didn’t want the other Voices to read from her mind.

Imenja sighed. “I guess we’ll find out what this is about when he’s ready to tell us.” She shrugged and moved away from the arches. “I have to go, but I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Yes.” Reivan managed a smile. “Hopefully I won’t have too many matters to bother you with.”

Imenja’s nose wrinkled. “I think that’s what annoys me most. He’s off having some adventure while we’re stuck here doing the boring work.” She started to descend the stairs.

When she had gone, Reivan looked out over the city.

So he’s left, she thought. He could have left me a message. Even a cryptic one. Just... something.

And nobody knows how long he’ll be gone. She felt a pang of longing and fear. That’s just what having a Voice as a lover entails, she told herself. There’ll always be secrets and mysteries. Unexplained disappearances.

Distracted lovemaking.

She sighed and turned away from the view. Nothing but the return of Nekaun was going to make her feel better, so she may as well lose herself in work.

Spice Merchant Chem, also known as Servant Chemalya, counted up the tally on his clay tablet and marked in the total. Sitting back in his chair, he smiled. Business was good. Dunwayans had taken to the hotter spices of his homeland like all competitive, pain-loving warriors should. His spiced version of the local brew, fwa, had brought him profits far higher than his expectations. Every day the door of his shop squeaked continually with clan servants come to buy more wares.

It had taken a while for the Dunwayans to take to the spices. Chemalya had made no secret of the fact they were from Southern Ithania. That made them “Pentadrian” goods, which gave them the taint of the enemy. It was said Dunwayan warriors loved their god, Lore, more than their own fathers. This was not surprising, since the god had apparently arranged for every aspect of Dunwayan life to favor them. They would not touch anything associated with the enemy.

At least, they didn’t at first. Then the allure of exotic goods with dangerous associations brought the first customers. The heat of the spices took those first young Dunwayans by surprise. Soon they were daring their friends to try it. When one spiked a mug of fwa with the spice, they discovered that the two substances complemented each other perfectly.

So Chemalya began selling pre-spiced fwa. It gained popularity so quickly he began to run out of spice. He ordered more and raised his prices. When two servants had bid on the last jar of his first shipment, the loser had looked so dismayed at his defeat Chemalya had offered the man a consolatory drink. Soon he was regaled with tales of the brutal treatment of servants.

Listening patiently, he realized his secret task was going to be easier than he had first thought. His future converts were all around him, and their masters had prepared them for their new faith better than any Pentadrian could have.

He had sent the servant away with a small jar of spice he’d been keeping for himself in the hope this would fend off the beating the man was expecting. From then on, he was generous to all the servants who came to buy wares. He told them the tale of half-truths that had allowed him to set up shop in Dunway - that his mother had been a Dunwayan servant woman who had run away to Sennon (true) and married a Murian trader (false - she’d become a whore), who had employed their son as an assistant (delivery boy). Taking over the business when the Murian died (true - but it had been arranged by the Pentadrians), Chemalya had come to Dunway out of a curiosity to see his mother’s homeland (false - his mother’s hatred for her people had killed all curiosity years ago).

To his surprise, he had enjoyed his time in Dunway so far. Not all warriors were cruel and stupid. Some treated their servants as if they were family. There was a tradition of poetry of surprising beauty and their honest and open attitude toward physical lust was refreshing compared to the coyness and embarrassment of Southern Ithanians.

He wasn’t going to be as glad to leave as he’d thought he’d be, and now that one of the White was here he was expecting that moment to arrive any day now. The thought filled him with sadness and a little resentment.

He looked down at the tablet.

Maybe that’s more to do with the profit I’m making. At times like these I have to remind myself that I’m here to serve the gods. Riches will not get me a place with them, when my soul is released from my body.

The door creaked. Chemalya looked up and smiled as he saw it was one of his latest recruits: Ton, a servant of the Nimler clan. It would not be long before he helped this one “escape” to the south.

Chemalya put his tablet under the bench, out of sight. Ton stepped forward hesitantly, wringing his hands.

“That arrangement you talked about,” the man said, his voice quivering. “Can it happen today?”

Surprised, Chemalya looked at the man closely. Ton always looked a little strained and anxious. Had he finally been pushed too far by his master, or was it something more serious?

“It can,” Chemalya told the man. “What has happened?”

“The White. She was at dinner last night. Said there were spies in the household and that Gim should set a trap.” He reached across the bench and gripped Chemalya’s arm. “If I go back he’ll find me. He’ll kill me. I have to go.”

Chemalya patted the man’s shoulder. “And you will. What did you come here for, and what else are you buying today?”

“Spiced fwa. Grain. Oil.” The man let go of Chemalya’s arm and drew a pouch of coins out of his shirt.

“Good. Tell me the names of the shops and I’ll send someone to meet you. He will take you out of the city.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. My friends and I took the precaution of knowing only as much as we needed, in case our minds were read. You have to trust me.”

Ton nodded and shrugged. “It’s a risk. I have to take it.”

“You will be the last for a while,” Chemalya told him.

The man looked stricken. “But... my wife and children? You said they—”

“Will escape later. They will, once the White has left and we can set things up again.” He paused. “I may need your help with that.”

Ton straightened. “You’ll have it.”

“Thank you. Now you had better tell me which shops you plan to visit.”

After Ton had left, Chemalya called one of the street boys into the shop and paid him a coin to deliver an order for five and a half barrels of fwa. He scratched Ton’s name and the shops he planned to visit onto a scrap of parchment and gave it to the boy.

Then he locked the shop door and sat down behind the bench. Closing his eyes, he pressed a hand to the star pendant under his tunic and sent out a call.

:Deekan.

After a moment the Dedicated Servant that had trained Chemalya replied.

:Chemalya? What is it?

He told her what Ton had said.

:Should I close the shop and leave?

:I will seek permission.

There was a long silence in which Chemalya heard knocking on the shop door. He ignored it.

:No, Deekan’s reply came. Continue sending converts south.

:And if the White finds me?

:She will not learn any more than you know. Deekan paused. I’m sorry, Chemalya. Those are Nekaun’s orders. He must have good reason to want you there.

Chemalya sighed and tried to suppress a feeling of rising panic.

:And I will obey them, he replied.

:Good luck.

Opening his eyes, Chemalya looked around the shop. When the White found him - and he was not foolish enough to think she wouldn’t - he would go from rich trader to imprisoned enemy. He doubted prisoners survived long in Dunwayan jails.

For a moment he considered running away. But the price of survival would be to betray the gods. He would not gamble that losing one’s soul was less terrible than capture by the White.

Another knock came from the door. He sighed and hauled himself to his feet.

At least I saved a few poor souls along the way. He smiled. And mother will be proud of that.

The wide, interconnected wooden porches of Kave were crowded but quiet. People sat on reed chairs in the shade, fanning themselves. Decorated fans were the height of fashion this year. Mirar had noted some truly gaudy ones in the hands of women dressed with equal flamboyance.

The men, women and children of this wealthy district of the city fell silent as he strode past and he sensed intense curiosity. Though he still dressed in the same worn Dreamweaver clothing, somehow they always recognized him. Kave was not a large city. Just as all the houses were connected so were the people, and gossip travelled as quickly as traffic. Within a few days of revealing his true identity to Tintel and the Kave Dreamweavers, the news had spread throughout the city.

Dreamweavers were even more effectively linked. The news spread much faster by dream-links and he had been contacted by Dreamweaver Elder Arleej, in Sennon, the next night. She had demanded to know why he hadn’t warned her of his intentions.

He smiled. I like her. She’s not intimidated by me at all. Pity the local Dreamweavers can’t see that. They might get over their awe of me a little faster.

Tintel was the exception, though he still had to stop her from deferring to him on occasion. The only time he accepted it was at times like this, when she called upon him to deal with seriously ill or injured patients.

The murmur of many subdued voices reached him from somewhere ahead. Turning a corner, he saw a house and the porches around it crowded with people. They fell silent and turned to stare at him. The servant that had fetched and guided him through the city hurried across an ornately carved bridge and disappeared among the crowd.

Mirar strode after him, the people moving back as he passed. Stepping through a door into a sparsely furnished room, he stopped to take in the scene within. A boy lay on the floor, unconscious. His parents kneeled beside him, weeping and clinging to each other. Tintel stood over them. She looked up at Mirar as he entered, and beckoned.

“What happened?” he asked as he moved to the boy’s side and crouched down.

“A fall,” Tintel said. “His spine is broken and his ribs and skull are cracked.”

“They laid bets on who could leap across the gap,” the mother said in a small voice. “He didn’t make it.”

Mirar guessed the gap was the space between the house and a neighbor’s. Yet another foolish game between boys. He laid a hand on the boy’s throat and sent his mind into the young body. Tintel’s assessment was right, but didn’t describe the full damage. Organs had been torn and bruised and the boy was bleeding internally. He was fortunate he was not already dead.

Drawing magic, Mirar set to work.

He lost himself in the binding of flesh and bone. Time ceased to matter. It was good to be able to do this without pretending to take longer, and use more effort. As the restoration drew close to finishing he began to catch flashes of memory from the boy’s mind. He saw a familiar story forming. The wager had been an imitation of the father’s many bets, as well as an attempt to gain money, spurred by the recent selling of the family’s furniture to meet debts.

Completely healing an injury caused by foolishness sometimes did more harm than good. He had seen people, convinced they could recover from any injury, court danger over and over again until they harmed themselves once more, or worse.

In this case, the parents would benefit as much from the boy spending a few weeks healing as the boy would. Who says we Dreamweavers don’t make judgments? Mirar thought. He felt a quiet amusement. I did.

But no ordinary Dreamweaver could do what he had just done. They didn’t have to face the consequences of perfect healing. He left the boy with enough bruising and soreness to give him cause to rethink any future wagers, then drew his mind away.

As Mirar leaned back the boy’s mother called her son’s name. The boy’s eyes opened and he began to grumble about his hurts. Mirar advised rest and gentle exercise. He accepted the parents’ grateful thanks, but when the father offered money Mirar gave the man a direct stare. The father flushed and looked away.

It was dark outside when he and Tintel walked back to the Dreamweaver House. The porches and bridges were alight with lamps, turning Kave into a glittering, suspended city. Tintel said nothing and he sensed she was not bothered by his silence. She was content.

And me? He considered. I am not unhappy. Abruptly he thought of Auraya and felt a small pang of sadness. No point mourning what could have been. Besides, I caused her enough grief by simply being someone I wasn’t, even if I didn’t mean to.

Now he was himself again. Completely. As they arrived at the Dreamweaver House he stepped forward to open the door for Tintel. She smiled crookedly at his manners.

“Thank you. Smells like we’re just in time for dinner,” she said.

The hall was full of voices and the aroma of cooking. The chatter diminished as he entered, but as he took a seat beside Tintel it returned to a normal level. Despite this, he felt the Dreamweavers’ suppressed excitement and nervousness. A particularly strong emotion of mixed fear and longing drew his attention to one side. His eyes met Dardel’s. He smiled and she quickly looked down at her plate.

She had stopped visiting his room the night she had learned who he was, too overwhelmed by the revelation that her fantasy was real to even speak to him. He had hesitated to tell her that she was still welcome in case she thought she had no choice but to accept his invitation. It was a disadvantage of reclaiming his identity that Emerahl had found immensely amusing.

The door to the House opened and a group of young Dreamweavers arrived. The room quietened again as attention shifted to the newcomers.

“I have news,” one of the young men announced. “The Trials for the new High Chieftain will begin tomorrow.”

At once the mood of the room changed to one of anticipation. Mirar had heard of the ritual for choosing a new leader, a spectacle that came once or twice in a lifetime. It seemed all Dekkans wanted to see it. Everyone turned to regard Tintel expectantly.

Good, Mirar thought. They’re looking to her for leadership at last.

“I wouldn’t dream of stopping anyone from attending,” Tintel said, rolling her eyes. “But I would appreciate it if a few of you volunteered to remain here, in case our services are needed.”

Heads nodded, and one or two offered to stay. Talk turned to the likely contestants. Mirar listened closely, intrigued by this method of making a great game out of the selection of a ruler.

“You’ll be going?” Tintel asked him quietly.

He smiled. “Yes - unless you have other uses for me tomorrow?”

“No,” she said. “I can’t help but think of it as your first public appearance. How will the Voice attending the Trials react to you, I wonder?”

“I doubt he or she will notice me at all,” he said, chuckling. “I have no intention of dressing up for the occasion or strutting about asserting myself.”

The corner of her mouth twitched into a half smile. “No, I don’t imagine you have. I have to admit, I’m relieved to hear it. You announcing your presence here when Dekkar was leaderless did give a few people cause for concern.”

Mirar sobered. He hadn’t thought of that. It’s always the way. You think you’ve considered all the possible problems an action might cause, but miss the most obvious one.

“They have nothing to fear,” he told her. “From what I’ve heard, the contestants have to run around Kave seven times. I’m a little old for...”

The table fell abruptly silent. People had turned to look at the main door. Following the gaze of his fellow Dreamweavers, Mirar saw a man in a fancy uniform standing at the end of the hall.

The man cleared his throat.

“Is the sorcerer known as Mirar here?”

All heads turned to Mirar. He rose. “I am he.”

The man strode around the table and bowed formally. “I bring an invitation to you from Fourth Voice Genza, Holy Servant of the Five, to join her in witnessing the Chieftain Trials tomorrow. I am to ask if you are free to attend.”

Mirar felt a muscle in his belly tighten. A meeting with one of the Voices. I should have expected this. He could sense nothing but nervousness and curiosity from the messenger.

“I will be honored to attend,” he said.

“A servant will come here at an hour past dawn to escort you to the ceremony.” The messenger bowed again, then strode out of the room, leaving it quiet but full of both excitement and fear.

18

The caravan leader, Korikana - known as Kori to the caravaneers - was a small man. One of his legs was shorter than the other, so he walked with a jerky, pronounced limp. He was more at home on his arem than on his feet, and doted on the creature so much it was clear he regarded it as a companion as much as a beast of burden.

During the day Kori travelled up and down the line of carts and platten, checking that passengers and goods were in order. Two days ago he had pulled up beside the platten Emerahl had bought a seat on and pointed to a dark line that had appeared on the horizon.

“Hannaya!” he had declared before riding on.

Now she witnessed the same scene repeated. This time, however, his finger directed her attention toward what the dark line had become: a high cliff. Or, more specifically, a section of the rock wall.

She hadn’t had more than the occasional glimpse of it in the last day and she couldn’t see much now. The country she travelled through was covered in strange trees. They varied in size and also appeared to come in a few similar types. The largest had either a single or several trunks springing from its base. Sometimes they were straight, sometimes they twisted sinuously. Their bark could be smooth or rough, pale or dark. All were remarkable in that they had no branches. At the top of each trunk was a mop of large, stringy leaves of varying colors. Some bore odd fruit that was popular with the locals. Its flesh was sweet and dense. Others bore richly flavored berries that could be eaten fresh or dried. Another smaller variety produced spicy seeds. Emerahl could see potential for cures in the seeds and berries.

Another common variety of local plants were the ones with sharp prickles. They grew in all kinds of bulbous shapes, from tiny stone-like ones that quickly discouraged any traveller from walking barefoot or sitting down without first checking the ground, to enormous spheres twice as tall as a man with spines as long as her arm. Most varieties were edible, apparently, and Kori had demonstrated this once by slicing open a head-sized plant with a sword and scooping out the surprisingly sweet, watery contents for them to taste.

The platten turned and Emerahl realized the road they had been following since the coast had met a wider thoroughfare. People, animals and vehicles travelled back and forth on this new road. Looking up, she caught her breath.

So that’s what Kori’s all excited about, she thought.

The cliff was now in full view, and the sight was like nothing she’d ever seen. The high rock face had been carved with tier upon tier of windows and balconies. Near the center, enormous arched windows suggested grand halls within. Toward the edges, smaller ones hinted at more humble abodes. Smoke wisped from what looked like horizontal chimneys and water cascaded out of the mouths of carved faces.

“The palace!” Kori said to her as he rode past, gesturing grandly.

It was both fantastic and ridiculous. In one place the face of the cliff had collapsed, revealing abandoned rooms within. Emerahl wondered how far the tunnelling went into the rock face and if any other collapses were hidden within. She knew she wouldn’t feel completely at ease in this city; she would always be expecting the ceiling to fall on her, or the floor to drop away.

As the caravan drew closer to the cliff face, Emerahl was relieved to see plenty of buildings at the palace’s base. The citizens of Hannaya didn’t just live in the rock wall. More buildings filled the gap between the rock wall and the river.

She regarded the boats on the river wistfully; she had wanted to buy a place on one, but the fee had been too expensive. Kori halted the caravan in an area alongside the river where several other collections of carts and platten had camped. She paid him the final quarter of his fee and asked where she should look for accommodation. He drew a symbol in the dust, a star inside a circle, then gave her directions. When she was sure she had memorized the instructions well enough, she bade him farewell and set off in the direction he’d indicated.

She found the accommodation easily and was amused to discover it was a place for women travellers run by Pentadrian Servants. They gave her a bed in a room with three other middle-aged women, who appeared to be travelling together. The women tried to strike up a conversation, but Emerahl pretended she didn’t know the local language well enough to hold one. Which was partly true. Though The Twins had taught her Murian during her long journey, the speed at which the locals spoke made it difficult to understand at times.

She set a shield of magic about her bag and lay down on her bed. It didn’t take long before she was sliding into sleep - it was more of a struggle stopping herself lapsing into full unconsciousness. She had been travelling continually for months and craved a good long rest.

No time for that yet, she thought. But I don’t think I’ll bother mind-skimming. The Twins should be able to tell me what I need to know.

:Surim. Tamun.

:Emerahl, they replied.

:I’ve arrived. I’m in Hannaya. Are the Thinkers still here?

:Yes. They are in the library, deep within the palace, Surim told her. Are you going there next?

:No. I’m tired. I’ll need a fresh mind if I’m to convince them to let me join them. I hope they don’t realize the parchment is a fake.

With The Twins’ help she had located some old parchment and made a fake fragment of a scroll. It had the same pronouncement written in two languages, one in the script the Thinkers were trying to decode and another in a slightly younger language that they understood. It didn’t give them the entire key to the unknown language, however.

Once the Thinkers knew she could read the older script they would want her to translate the artifacts they had been studying. She had wondered, at first, why The Twins needed her to translate them.

:We can only see what is in the minds we read, they had said. Since the Thinkers do not understand it, neither do we. Only when they study the shapes of the script are we able to identify them. But they rarely do that, so it is slow work. It will be much faster if you read them for us.

:Why don’t we send them a fake parchment with the complete key to the language and let them work it out for themselves? We can read the location of the Scroll of the Gods from their minds and I can go fetch it.

:If the gods are watching and learn of the Scroll’s location through the Thinkers, they may send someone to destroy it.

It was logical to assume that both Circlian and Pentadrian gods wouldn’t want any scroll containing their secrets to be found.

:You followed our instructions on making the parchment appear genuine, Surim now said. Without looking at it ourselves, we can’t tell you how convincing it is, but we trust you’ve done a good job. Still, it would be wise for you to avoid leaving it with them.

:We have other news, Tamun said. One of the Thinkers has been offered a large sum of money for the Scroll. The other Thinkers won’t want to sell it, so he knows he would have to betray them. He’s not sure he wants to.

:Which of the Thinkers is it?

:Raynora. You will like him, I think. He is good-looking and devious.

:I’m not sure which to be most disturbed by - that you think I’ll like him because he’s good-looking or because he’s devious. Do you think he’ll take the offer?

:Perhaps if the price is raised. We will watch him closely.

:Good. I’ve been too busy for much mind-skimming, and I doubt that’s going to change. For now, the Scroll and the Thinkers can wait until tomorrow, she told them. I need a good long sleep.

:Good night, they both chimed, then their minds faded from her senses.

To the left hunkered the mountains of southwestern Sennon that the Siyee had flown over the previous day. Their lower slopes folded into root-like shapes that sank into a wide, sandy strip of land caught between mountains and sea. On the other side, across the water, the dusty shadow of the southern continent could be seen. A haze obscured the land and made it impossible to tell if the distant shapes were hills or mountains.

In front was a thin strip of land linking the two continents.

The Isthmus of Grya, Auraya recalled. It looks so fragile, as if the sea ought to have washed it away centuries ago. Maybe it was wider once and the tide has slowly worn it into this narrow land bridge.

Danjin had once said, just before the war, that the Isthmus would have been an effective defensive position to hold against the Pentadrian invaders, if only the Sennons hadn’t agreed to help the enemy. Auraya wasn’t sure she agreed with him now. The lack of water or food in the Sennon desert would make holding such a position difficult. Supplies could be transported to the Isthmus, but only with great effort.

Which meant it might be a better defensive position for the Pentadrians, if they had a supply of food and water on the other side. She knew their main city, Glymma, was not far from the Isthmus, so both resources must be available in large enough quantities to keep a big city thriving.

Sreil turned toward the southern continent and the rest of the Siyee followed. They were flying high, hoping that any human that chanced to look up would dismiss them as a flight of birds. The haze of dust ahead would also hide them.

Sennon slowly retreated behind them and Auraya began to make out details of the land ahead. A road extended from the Isthmus into the haze. The darker shapes proved to be low hills in the distance. The sun glinted off water at the turns of a wide, ropey river.

Then slowly the lines and structures of a city began to appear.

The road curved to meet it, turning into a paved street wider than any Auraya had seen. On either side, smaller streets spread in an ordered grid. Houses were sturdy structures of brick with tiled roofs. They stretched in all directions, from the wharves at the sea’s edge out to where green fields began. Here and there gardens of green vegetation and pools of reflected sky caught the eye like jewels in a fantastic necklace.

It was a city as large as Jarime. Perhaps larger. It had none of the labyrinthine disorder of the Hanian capital, however. Signs of intelligent pre-planning continued to the city edge and beyond. Impressively large aqueducts carried water far out from the mountains, and canals from the river were spanned by bridges of strange and beautiful shapes.

At the center of the city, where the wide main road ended, a hill broke the urban order. On this was built a complicated series of structures: a muddle of roofs and courtyards. Auraya wondered why this place was so chaotic when the rest of the city was not.

If this is Glymma, is that the Temple of the Pentadrians?

There was no other building or set of buildings so grand. She decided it must be. Looking around the city, she wondered what it was like to live there. To her surprise she found herself thinking of Mirar. Had he visited Glymma? He could have passed through on the way to the town Jade had said he was in. A town in Mur, in the north, if Jade hadn’t lied to protect him. In fact, Mirar could be down there right now.

Her musings were interrupted by a whistle from Sreil. He changed course again, heading away from the city.

Auraya sensed the mood of the Siyee shift. They had been even more impressed by Glymma than she, most of them having never seen a landwalker city. Now that their fascination had been broken, a gloom was settling over them. If the enemy was this powerful, how could the Siyee ever hope to fight them?

She wished she could reassure them. None of the whistles of the Siyee could communicate her confidence in them and any words she spoke would be difficult to hear over the wind. And I have no idea if this place they’re going to attack is well defended, she thought. I can’t promise them that they’ll succeed. Sometimes it was better to remain silent.

The aqueducts and fields stretched a long way from the city. Weariness began to nag at the Siyee. Sreil was leading them toward the low hills, where he hoped they could find a safe place to rest for the night. The sun dropped until all was stained the color of gold.

They reached the hills as the sun touched the horizon. All were relieved to see the dry valleys and ridges were uninhabited. Sreil gave the signal to descend and circled down into a gully.

A dim light still remained as they landed, but within moments it had died and left them in impenetrable darkness. Auraya felt the Siyee standing around her, uncertain and a little frightened.

“Shall I create a light?” she suggested.

“Yes,” Sreil replied quietly. “It is worth the risk, I think. The hills around us should hide it.”

She drew magic and channelled it into a tiny spark that barely lit the faces around her. The Siyee crowded around anxiously.

“Snack?” a small voice at Auraya’s shoulder said hopefully.

Chuckles broke out all around. Auraya smiled as the Siyee relaxed a little. She reached back to scratch Mischief’s head.

“Yes, I think it’s time for a snack.”

The Siyee began to settle in for the night. Food was unpacked and Auraya’s burden as water carrier lessened. Watchers were chosen and patches of ground were swept free of stones. Although the Siyee were used to sleeping in hammocks, not the hard ground, their exhaustion would ensure they got some rest.

As quiet settled over the camp, Auraya’s stomach sank as she felt a familiar approaching presence. She knew it was Huan by the way the hairs rose on the back of her neck.

Huan moved to priest Teel and spoke into his mind. First she asked how the Siyee had fared, then, as always, she asked what Auraya had done. Teel reported Auraya’s every movement faithfully.

:She is not to fight in this battle, Huan told him.

:Even if we are losing? Teel asked.

:Even then. This is to be a warning to the Pentadrians that every time they strike at Circlians there will be retribution. It needs to be delivered by Circlian fighters. If Auraya fights, it will appear to come from her.

:But she is a Circlian, too.

:But not our chosen weapon of retribution. How will the Pentadrians learn to respect ordinary Circlians if ordinary Circlians do not stand up and fight?

:I see.

:Yes. You are a good example for your people, Teel. You are loyal and obedient.

Auraya felt Teel’s pride swell.

:I will do whatever you want me to.

:I know you will, Teel. Your heart is true. Of the Siyee priests, you show the most promise. I know you will not fail me.

Auraya rolled her eyes. The young man was already stuffed full of his own importance. He did not need Huan boosting his confidence and pride any further. As the flattery and declarations of loyalty continued, she found herself feeling faintly nauseous.

This is one of the gods I used to love unreservedly? she asked herself. It was terrible discovering that Huan hates me and wants me dead, but this is sickening. She’s turning him into a blind fanatic. He’ll probably be so sure she will protect her little favorite that he’ll rush into the battle and get himself killed.

Sighing, she rolled over. I don’t love the gods equally any more. When I die Chaia had better be the one to take my soul. I think if it was a choice of being taken by Huan or fading out of existence, I’d choose the latter.

This was a terrible blasphemy, she knew, but for once it didn’t send a shiver of fear down her spine.

19

Ella’s circ lay beside her, neatly folded. On top of her white dress she wore the travelling wrap local women favored. She wore it in the usual fashion: slung around the shoulders. It could also be lifted to cover the head during rain, or wrapped about the torso for warmth, but Danjin hadn’t seen her try either yet. They’d had only dry summer days since leaving Chon.

Sitting opposite Ella in the platten was Yem, the eldest son of the Dregger clan leader. The young man was as lean and muscular as most warriors were, and he was intelligent and politically astute. Danjin had also noticed that Yem was unusually sympathetic toward servants and for that reason he was a strange choice of guide for them.

Dunwayan warriors expected loyalty from their servants. There was no law preventing a servant leaving a household; he or she could even try to find employment elsewhere, though doing so was difficult since most clans had plenty of servants and few warriors would accept a servant who had already proven disloyal by leaving the service of another.

What the Pentadrians had done by arranging the “escape” of servants could rouse a general rebellion of servants against the warriors. Danjin had expected I-Portak to choose someone less sympathetic to the servants to be Ella’s guide. Someone more like Gim, their last dinner host.

The other occupant of the covered platten was Gillen Shieldarm, the Hanian ambassador. During the long hours that Danjin and Ella had spent waiting in Chon, Gillen had visited at least once a day, keeping them entertained with stories or games of counters. Now, on the road, he did the same using the small set that Silava had packed for Danjin. Sometimes it seemed the only conversation in the platten was between Danjin and Gillen, and about counters.

Danjin suspected Gillen had offered to accompany them because he was bored in Chon. Ella had accepted Gillen’s offer because he had a deeper understanding of Dunwayan customs and recent politics than Danjin. Ella spent most of her time staring into the distance, listening to the minds of the men they were tracking. Yem remained quiet, only speaking when addressed. Danjin was sure Yem’s silence had nothing to do with snobbery, but was either a sign the young man was unsure of himself, intimidated by Ella, or was simply the sort who preferred to listen rather than talk.

Yem and Gillen didn’t know as much as Danjin did about the reason for this journey. During the dinner at Gim’s household, Ella had caught the nervous thoughts of Ton, a servant planning to leave his master’s service. For some time now the man had been meeting a Sennonian spice seller. The seller had told him that Dunwayan servants were little more than slaves, and spoke of a place where all people were equal and all work was shared. A place in the south of Dunway.

A visit to the market confirmed Ella’s suspicions. One of the spice sellers was a Sennonian Pentadrian with orders to send potential Dunwayan converts out of Chon. He did not know where he was sending them, unfortunately, but through him Ella found the mind of the escaping servant, Ton.

As she’d hoped, Ton had just begun the journey to the haven for servants. From that day he passed in and out of the care of various men and women - none of whom knew where this haven was or more than one other guide. It was a carefully planned system designed to make tracing the Pentadrians difficult.

Difficult, but not impossible, Ella had said. All she had to do was follow the servant. Though he did not know where he was most of the time, she was able to learn his location from the people around him.

Looking out of the open door flap, Danjin found himself looking into the tops of tall trees. The road had been hewn out of the steep sides of the mountains south of Chon. If he looked down, which he preferred not to do, he would see the edge of the road and a slope that was too close to vertical for comfort.

Ella made a small, frustrated sound, drawing his attention away. She was shaking her head.

“What is it?” he asked.

“They’ve sent him on alone. He has no idea where he’s going.” She frowned and looked at Yem. “Let’s consult the map.”

The young man drew out a wooden cylinder and unstoppered it. From it he took a roll of thin leather covered in tattooed pictures and lines. He had told them it was human skin. The warrior who had created it had travelled around Dunway for years, carefully etching his map into the back of his most devoted servant. Since hearing the tale, Danjin had done all he could to avoid touching the map.

Small blurred pictures of fortresses were spread evenly across the country. The roads were inaccurately straight, showing none of the winding turns the platten had taken. Lines in a faded red showed the boundaries of land owned by different clans.

“He’s here,” Ella said, pointing to a group of symbols that indicated the houses of land servants. “His instructions are to walk along this road until he sees a big rock shaped like an arem, then take the next left turn. Then he’s to look for a large tree and cut across fields.”

Danjin suddenly understood her frustration. These instructions couldn’t be followed on a map. The man had no idea where he was, or where he was going, and had no companions or guides who did.

These Pentadrians are clever, Danjin thought. But they won’t evade us. It’s just a matter of time.

“Eventually he will see a landmark I know,” Yem assured her.

“And by then we will have fallen behind,” Ella said, clearly not happy.

“We could travel to the place he just left,” Gillen suggested. “Then follow the instructions.” Their platten was taking a parallel route to the servant’s along roads to his east, in case the Pentadrians and helpers on the route saw them and suspected pursuit.

“No,” she said. “It is better we wait than take the risk they will discover us.”

Yem rolled up the map and slid it back in its case. As Ella’s gaze shifted to the distance again, Gillen raised his eyebrows at Danjin. Smiling, Danjin brought out his counters set. It was a finely crafted set for travellers. Each piece had a peg at the base which slotted into holes in the board - but the drawer in which the pieces were stored had warped and would no longer open fully.

“Care for a game?”

Gillen nodded. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The town of the bird breeders was nestled high in a steep-sided valley and was surrounded by caves. It was called Klaff. Auraya had read the name from the mind of an inhabitant, but she couldn’t tell the Siyee without risking the gods guessing how she had learned it.

It was getting close to the hottest part of the day and the Siyee scouts that had watched the town yesterday had noticed that the inhabitants were quietest at this time. Locals were inclined to retreat inside their houses or nap in a shady place. The birds were safely caged. Hours had passed since their morning flight and more would pass before their late afternoon one.

Mischief was huddled in the shade of a boulder, panting. Auraya’s pack was not a pleasant place to be in the heat of the day. She poured water into a small depression in a rock and he lapped it up thirstily.

The Siyee were waiting just over the ridge on one side of the valley. A few were keeping watch on the town while Sreil addressed the others.

“The birds are kept inside caves,” Sreil told them, “with only iron bars holding them there, so we can shoot them with arrows and darts without even going inside or letting them out. There’s an empty space in front, surrounded by buildings, where we’ll land. There weren’t any guards there yesterday, but they may have been inside. If we are quiet we may get out of there without anyone noticing, though I doubt the birds will stay silent.

“I want six warriors to land in a half-circle and ready their bows. They will deal with any landwalkers that emerge.” He paused, looking expectantly around until six hands rose. “The rest of us will land between them and the wall. We’ll go to the cages and kill all of the birds. If there are eggs, smash them too.”

Auraya had suggested she provide some sort of distraction for the townsfolk, but Sreil had decided against it. He wanted to take advantage of the inhabitants’ sleepiness; any distraction she arranged would make them more alert.

Sreil straightened and looked around at his force of Siyee warriors. “We must work fast. Don’t stay any longer than you must. We are not landwalker fighters. If we meet any resistance we must leave. We’ll meet back here.”

The Siyee whistled an acknowledgment. Auraya bade them good hunting, bringing a few grins to otherwise grim faces. Then Sreil flexed his arms, sprang into a run down the steep slope and leapt into the air, and the rest of the Siyee went surging after him.

Auraya watched them swoop away and then wheel toward the town. She climbed to the top of the ridge, finding a boulder to crouch next to that would prevent her silhouette being visible against the sky. Her heart was beating quickly and as the Siyee began their descent she felt her stomach clench with anxiety.

Looking around the town, she searched for anyone who might have noticed their approach. The streets were empty.

Heat radiated from the boulder. She hoped the citizens of Klaff were soundly asleep.

The Siyee were a swarm of distant figures just above the town now. They abruptly dived downward into a courtyard. Buildings surrounded three sides and on the other was a rock wall dotted with dark holes, just as Sreil had described. Auraya held her breath as they landed, but no figures rushed out to attack them.

... must still be asleep, she heard Sreil think smugly. She felt his pride in his warriors as they took their places as he’d ordered. Then from all the Siyee came a jolt of surprise and fear.

From her vantage point, Auraya saw something dark spray out of one of the holes to cover the Siyee. She leapt to her feet as she sensed the Siyee’s surprise and confusion. Their thoughts were an incoherent jumble of terror and dismay. She could not work out what was happening.

Looking down, she realized the ground was far below her. She had lifted herself into the sky without intending to. Now she deliberately flew out over the town until she was above the courtyard. Understanding finally came as she made out Siyee struggling to free themselves from under a heavy net.

A net?

Cold rushed through her as she realized the Pentadrians must have known the Siyee were coming.

How? Did someone betray us? Who?

Some of the Siyee were thrashing about out of sheer panic but others had brought out knives and were sawing at the thick cords. Auraya felt her stomach sink as she saw men and women in black robes hurrying out of the buildings to stand on the edges of the net, preventing Siyee escaping. A couple of Siyee scrambled clear. The escapees darted toward the cages, leapt up onto the rock wall and used their momentum to help them scramble higher. Springing out into the air and flapping hard, they managed to pass over the tops of the buildings and swoop away across the town.

At the same time, other Siyee had given up the struggle and Auraya felt a surge of pride as they used their pipes and harnesses to shoot poisoned darts at the landwalkers. A few of the Servants slowly collapsed onto the net, but their weight only served to hold the Siyee more firmly. The rest were unaffected.

They’re shielding themselves with magic, Auraya realized, her heart sinking. The Siyee can’t hope to fight off Servants.

:Auraya!

Her heart skipped as she recognized Juran.

:Yes?

:What is going on? I can’t make any sense out of what Teel is showing me.

:The Siyee attack failed. The Pentadrians knew they were coming, and have captured them.

Auraya felt a pang of hope from someone below and realized that one Siyee, held down by the net, was staring up at her.

Help me, he thought at her.

She felt guilt, frustration and then anger. I can’t, she thought at the trapped Siyee. She clenched her fists. The gods had forbidden her to fight. There was no way she could help the Siyee without fighting.

:What do you want me to do? she asked Juran.

:The Pentadrians aren’t killing the Siyee?

:No.

He fell silent - probably deliberating. At his question an idea had come to Auraya. If the Pentadrians had known about the attack and intended to kill the Siyee, they wouldn’t have used the net. They intended to capture them.

And a captive could always be freed. Perhaps I won’t have to fight the Pentadrians in order to free the Siyee.

Looking into the minds of the Pentadrians, she saw both triumph and surprise. Yesterday she had seen nothing in the thoughts of the townsfolk to suggest they were expecting an attack or planning an ambush. Now she saw that they had been ignorant of the ambush until moments ago, when they had been called here for a meeting only to witness First Voice Nekaun net the flying people.

First Voice Nekaun? Auraya felt her heart sink even further as she saw that one of the Pentadrians was looking up at her. She searched for his thoughts and sensed nothing.

Memories rose of Kuar, the former First Voice, holding her imprisoned with magic. She pushed them aside. Kuar is dead, she reminded herself. Still, this new First Voice may be as powerful as he was.

He could probably blast her out of the sky if he wanted to.

She drew back hastily, but he made no move to stop her.

:Juran.

:Yes?

:The enemy leader is here. I have to leave. But I will stay close. I’ll take any opportunity to free the Siyee, without fighting.

:Yes. Do that. I will discuss the situation with the others and let you know what we decide.

As she moved further and further away from the scene she felt the despair of the Siyee. They were running out of darts and the enemy were now tackling them one by one, extracting weapons and binding wrists together. Auraya reached the ridge she had begun watching from and set herself down.

She felt awful, as if she had abandoned them. But I can’t do anything yet. I have to think of a way to free them.

“Owaya?”

A relieved and frightened Mischief bounded up to her. He climbed onto her shoulders and sat quietly, trembling slightly. As she scratched his head she realized her hands were shaking.

“They’re alive,” she told him. “At least they’re alive.”

The sound of air on wings drew her attention away. The two Siyee who had escaped landed beside her. Their expressions were terrible.

“Are they dead?” one asked.

She shook her head and their relief washed over her.

“Prisoners, then?” the other asked.

“Yes.”

“What will you do now?”

Auraya sighed. “Whatever I can do without disobeying the gods. They said I must not fight. They did not say I couldn’t sneak up to a prison and set anyone free.”

They fell silent, staring down at the village. The magic around her roiled and she almost hissed out loud as two strong presences suddenly shot out of the town and into the two Siyee beside her. Her skin crawled as she recognized Huan, then she relaxed a little as she realized the other was Chaia.

:So what will your pet sorceress do next? Huan asked.

:Make a choice, Chaia replied. That is what you mean to accomplish, isn’t it?

:From this? No, this was merely retribution for the murders in Jarime and the attempts to convert Circlians, Huan said.

:For the murders of Dreamweavers? I didn’t think you liked them that much.

:I don’t dislike them as much as you do, she retorted. Besides, the White have decided to encourage tolerance of Dreamweavers for now. It makes sense to avenge Dreamweaver deaths.

:Yet you arranged for the Siyee to fail. How does that avenge anyone?

:It doesn’t matter. What matters is that the Pentadrians know the White are upset with them.

:You’re taking unnecessary risks, Huan. Juran considered this attack a gamble. He’s not surprised it failed. Now he’ll wonder why you ordered it. He will doubt the wisdom of following your orders.

:A small test of his loyalty.

:Was it really? And why didn’t you consult the rest of us before you arranged it?

:I consulted. I didn’t need to consult you since all the others agreed.

:Lore would not have agreed to this.

:He did. You forget his fondness for war games.

:So why did you have the Siyee captured, not killed? That would stir the world into war more effectively.

:It is more interesting this way.

:Interesting? You’re not interested in war, Chaia said. You’re only interested in getting rid of Auraya. If this ambush of yours leads to Auraya turning from us, you will regret it.

:Is that a threat? Huan laughed. You can harm me no more than I can harm you.

With that she moved away, speeding toward the town. Auraya sighed with relief.

:That’s where she’s wrong, Chaia said to himself. He chuckled. Did you hear all that, Auraya? I hope so.

And then he too was gone, leaving her blinking in surprise. He knew she could hear the gods talking. Had he encouraged Huan to discuss the ambush with him?

Perhaps only to show me he wasn’t responsible... and that Huan was.

She felt her stomach turn over as she realized what that meant. Huan had betrayed the Siyee. She had not just arranged this mission as a test of Auraya’s loyalty, but she had ensured the failure of it as well.

Then she remembered Chaia’s warning. Huan would seek to hurt her by hurting those she loved. It seemed that Huan was willing to harm the people she had created.

She felt a hand on her arm.

“How can we help?”

Auraya turned to blink at the Siyee in surprise, then dragged her mind back to the dilemma she faced. At once she realized that if Huan wanted to harm the Siyee in order to hurt her, then it was better to get them as far away from here as possible.

“Go back to our last camp,” she told them. “I will meet you shortly. I’m going to get some food and water for you. You should leave some at the camp, and in the places we stopped on our way here, for any of the others that manage to escape.”

“You want us to go home?” one of the Siyee asked doubtfully.

“Yes.” She met the Siyee’s eyes. “This was a trap. They were expecting you. I will do what I can to free the others. You must ensure they survive the journey home.”

The two Siyee nodded. They knew she was right, but they were reluctant to leave their companions behind.

“Go,” Auraya told them. “Get yourselves home, at least. Speaker Sirri and your fellow warriors’ families should know what happened here.”

At that they bowed their heads in agreement. She watched them fly away, then turned her attention back to Klaff. There were quite a few public wells, and she had noted a small market on the edge of town. Even if Nekaun had been reading the Siyee’s minds as she had told them her intentions, she doubted he would get to the market in time to catch her.

Lifting Mischief off her shoulders, she put him on the ground.

“Stay,” she ordered.

His head drooped, but he obediently walked to a patch of shade and curled up to wait.

Satisfied, she stepped out into the air and propelled herself back to the town.

20

Heavy rain and fierce winds had roused Mirar from sleep several times during the night, but when he woke in the morning all was quiet. He looked outside his window. Cloud covered the sky, but in places it had parted to reveal patches of blue. Despite the rain it was still warm.

Though it was barely past dawn there was a smell of baking bread coming from the kitchen and Tintel was already in the hall, delicately slicing and eating fruit. She looked up at him and nodded in greeting. As he sat down in the hall to eat, the sound of heavy rain suddenly resumed.

“Not a pleasant day for the Trials,” Tintel said, joining him at the table. “I’d have thought the gods would arrange better.”

“I guess that depends on their own interpretation of the word ‘trial.’ ”

She chuckled. “Yes, I guess it does. Would you like me to accompany you today?”

He smiled and shook his head. “No - but thank you for offering.”

She nodded. He could sense her anxiety, though he could not tell if it were for his safety or that of all Dreamweavers - or both. If this meeting between him and Fourth Voice Genza went badly, would it affect the good relationship between Southern Ithanian Dreamweavers and Pentadrians?

I will just have to ensure it does not go badly, Mirar told himself.

A knock came from the main entrance. Tintel rose to answer it and returned with a man and a teenage boy. Both wore ribbons of blue and white sewn all over clothing of the same colors, but neither looked as cheerful as their costume. The boy was supported by the older man, hopping in order to avoid putting weight on one leg.

Tintel called to one of the Dreamweavers in the kitchen, who emerged, took one look at the colorful pair, and led them away. Tintel returned to her seat.

“We’ll be seeing plenty of broken bones and twisted ankles today,” she said.

Mirar looked at her questioningly.

“Wet platforms can be dangerously slippery,” she explained. “During an exciting public event, people - particularly young people - have a habit of rushing about carelessly. Ah. Here’s your escort.”

Mirar turned to see a middle-aged woman dressed in Servant robes standing on the threshold of the room. The woman was red-faced and sweating. As Mirar rose, her gaze slid to his.

“You are Mirar, founder of the Dreamweavers?” she asked.

“I am,” he replied.

Her eyebrows rose. “I am Servant Minga. I am to take you to meet Fourth Voice Genza.”

Mirar turned to Tintel. “Good luck.”

“You too,” she replied quietly. “Watch your step out there today.”

He smiled, sure that she was not referring to wet platforms, and walked over to greet the Servant. The woman was short but her bearing was proud. She was used to being respected and obeyed, Mirar guessed.

He gestured to the door. “Please lead the way.”

She nodded to Tintel before turning away. Mirar couldn’t help marvelling at the little gesture of respect. A Circlian priestess would never have done such a thing.

I could really come to love this country.

They stepped outside into fat, soaking drops of rain, and Mirar’s enthusiasm was quickly dampened! He drew a little magic and shielded them both, earning a small smile of gratitude from his guide. Despite the rain it didn’t seem much cooler, but the upper level of Kave was gleaming with moisture and smelled of wet timber.

They walked slowly, making their way from platform to platform. Dekkans lounged in chairs under wide verandas, fanning themselves. They smiled and nodded as Mirar passed, and he took that to be a good sign. If the people of Dekkar liked him being here perhaps the Voices would, too.

After a few minutes, however, he heard the patter of several footsteps behind him and his heart sank as he imagined a mob of supporters following him to the Hall of Chieftains. That would only give the Voice the impression he had a strong influence over them - which she could hardly be expected to like.

He stopped and looked over his shoulder, then smothered a laugh. The crowd was a group of children, their eyes wide with curiosity. They grinned at him.

“Hello,” he said. “Why are you following me?”

“We like you,” a boy said.

“You healed Pinpin,” a girl told him.

“And Mimi.”

“And Doridori’s mother.”

“Are you going to the Trials?”

He nodded.

“We are too!” The children cheered, then as one they ran away, their feet pounding on the boards. Smiling, Mirar turned to find the Servant regarding him curiously. He shrugged and they continued on their way.

As they crossed a bridge Mirar caught a movement below and looked down. Tiny temporary shelters had been constructed on the ground below the platforms, on either side of a creek. He caught the smell of refuse and sewage. This was where the poorer residents of Kave lived, gathering what the affluent ones discarded. Those above complained about the smell from below, yet if the poor didn’t gather the garbage dropped from above and keep the creeks flowing freely the whole city would have smelled far worse.

Tintel had told Mirar that the poor lashed the walls of their shelters together to form rafts when the floods came. They tethered these to trees or platforms to prevent them being washed out to sea. Pentadrians had condemned to slavery three rich young men who had loosed several rafts as a prank the year before. A few of the families had been rescued by ships and had identified the men, but most were never found.

The closer they came to the Hall of the Chieftains, the more crowded the porches of Kave became. Everyone wore bright clothing decorated with ribbons or flowers. More blossoms bedecked the houses and platforms, though those unprotected from the rain were drooping with moisture.

The rain ended suddenly, but water continued to drip from rooftops. Sometimes the crowd was so thick the Servant had to clear her throat or ask loftily that people stand aside. At last the Hall of the Chieftains came in sight. Like Kave’s Sanctuary, it was made of stone. It was a squat pyramid of three levels, rising up from the muddy ground below. The sloped sides were of enormous staggered stone bricks, like an oversized staircase. In the center of the structure was a section of normal-sized stairs leading to the topmost level. A visitor must literally climb the walls to get there.

A pavilion had been erected on the first level. Several men and a few women sat on reed chairs beneath this. Servants stirred the air in the room with large fans. Their efforts were directed mainly at a dark-skinned woman in black robes sitting on a reed couch at the center of the pavilion.

Mirar’s guide led him across the bridge. She stopped by one of the corner poles of the pavilion and he waited beside her. The dark-skinned woman was talking to one of her companions. As he finished she looked up at Mirar and smiled, then rose and walked forward to meet him.

She’s tall, he noted. And she walks with the grace of someone who is fit. But she is lean rather than muscular, and her face is quite beautiful.

“I am Genza, Fourth Voice of the Gods,” she said in Dekkan. “You are Mirar, immortal leader of the Dreamweavers?”

“I am,” he replied. He felt a small shiver of apprehension at admitting to his identity so freely after all the years of hiding. “Though I am only their founder and teacher, not their leader,” he added.

Genza nodded once at the guide, who walked away. “Please join me,” she said to him, gesturing to the couch.

He sat down beside her, aware that sharing her couch was probably a great honor. Genza introduced him to the other men and women. Most were patriarchs and matriarchs of Kave’s wealthier families - Mirar had met a few during healing visits. Others included the local Dedicated Servants, war chiefs, and ambassadors from Avven and Mur.

“And here are our candidates.”

All turned to the front of the pavilion. Four men and one woman, all dressed in colorful clothing, stood before them. All traced a star in the air before Genza. The Voice rose and greeted each in turn, wishing them luck.

The first was a man in his late thirties, with a little gray showing in his hair. He gave an impression of maintained fitness and health, and his gaze was sharp.

Next came a younger man with broad shoulders and the muscular body of active youth. His eyes kept moving to someone behind Mirar and he appeared to be struggling not to grin.

Beside him stood another young man. This one was thin and serious. He did not have the fitness of the first two, but his face was prematurely marked with lines that suggested he spent a lot of time in thought - or worrying.

The fourth candidate was a woman in her thirties. She stood with a straight back and her expression was all suppressed defiance. The last was a man Mirar judged to be in his fifties, with a wiry body and a kind face. His clothing was as bright as the others’ but at close inspection was clearly of low-quality cloth.

At a word from Genza, the five contestants turned to face the crowd. She stepped past them, into the rain. A quiet slowly fell over the city.

“Today each of these men and women will undergo physical and magical ordeals,” she said, her voice unnaturally loud. “Their knowledge, intelligence and morality will be questioned, then their reputation examined and their popularity weighed. They must pass all these Trials, but only the one with the highest score shall win. Wish them luck!”

A cheer rose from the crowd. Genza lifted her arms and they quietened again.

“The first Trial is that of physical strength, stamina and agility. A path has been set out that they must follow.” She paused. “Do not interfere with the candidates’ progress,” she warned. “Cheating or sabotage will be punished by death.”

She dropped her arms and turned to face the candidates.

“Are you ready?”

The five nodded.

A spark of light appeared above Genza’s head.

The spark flared.

“The Chieftain Trials begin now!” she shouted.

The city erupted in cheering as the contestants hurried away, descending the pyramid. Genza returned to her seat. A moment later Mirar glimpsed a contestant running under the houses. He noticed colored poles rammed into the ground, ribbons strung between them, and black-clad Servants standing beside them.

Genza turned to regard Mirar again. “So, Mirar of the Dreamweavers, how long have you been in Dekkar?”

“A few months.”

“You didn’t make your presence known for some time, then?”

“I was unsure if I would be safe here.” He paused, then raised an eyebrow at the woman. “Am I?”

She smiled. “That depends on your plans. If you decided to rule Dekkar for yourself we would ensure it was the shortest reign of a Chieftain in history. And there have been some very short ones.”

“I have no ambition to rule any country. That is a task better suited to people such as yourself.”

“And what am I?”

He looked at her, surprised by the question. “Favored by the gods. Smart. Beautiful. People like leaders with those qualities.”

Leaning back, she regarded him through half-closed eyes.

“You are charming - and not so bad-looking yourself. I must admit, I was expecting an old man.”

He smiled. “I am an old man.”

She laughed. Then she leaned forward and touched his knee lightly. “I’ll tell you a secret. I am not as young as I look either.”

Again he felt surprise. Genza’s gaze was dark and her smile was mischievous.

I’d think she was flirting with me, if she wasn’t a...

A Voice? He’d heard nothing to suggest the Voices were celibate. He knew their Servants weren’t, though he’d always suspected the rumors of ritual orgies were exaggerations.

Was she merely being friendly or was she offering him something more? If she did proposition him, what would he do? She was attractive, and something told him she was very experienced... but something else made him hesitate.

Maybe it was natural caution. He couldn’t know what consequences might come out of bedding a woman in such a position of power. Then he remembered that Pentadrians in Jarime had arranged for Dreamweavers to be murdered a few months before. Genza may have had something to do with that, and the thought was more than enough to extinguish his interest.

She appeared to sense it and leaned back in her seat again.

“So what are your plans for the future, Dreamweaver Mirar?” she asked.

He shrugged. “My people are everywhere in Southern Ithania. I would like to travel around the continent, learning about the languages and ways of the people, and teaching healing skills as I did in the past.”

She nodded. “Then you must come to Glymma. Come to the Sanctuary and introduce yourself to my fellow Voices.” Her smile broadened and she lowered her chin and looked at him from under her brows. “Even if they do not make a fuss of you, I will. I see the potential for a profitable alliance between us.”

He chuckled and regarded her thoughtfully. “Ah, your gods choose well. Why am I unsure if you’re trying to seduce me politically or physically?”

Her eyes sparkled and she grinned widely. “Success is reaching a position where one’s talents are best utilized.”

He nodded. “That is true. I’m afraid I have proven to be a bad example for Dreamweavers at times. I try to avoid what I don’t have a talent for. My talents are those of a healer, teacher and guide, so I can only speak for Dreamweavers in a very limited way.”

“Yet as a teacher and guide, your actions could still affect the future of the Dreamweavers. You could still guide the Dreamweavers, say, away from a continuing friendship between Dreamweavers and Pentadrians.”

“I could, but I would not, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And I might seek a reassurance on their behalf that Pentadrians do not intend us any further harm.”

Her eyes narrowed, suggesting she had caught his reference to the Dreamweaver murders in Jarime.

“Be assured, then, that we do not regard Dreamweavers with any animosity,” she told him.

No animosity, he mused. But you won’t think twice about using individuals to further your own ends again.

“What do you know of the candidates?” she asked him, changing the subject.

He shrugged. “Very little. Only the gossip I’ve overheard from other Dreamweavers. I don’t completely understand what the Trials are for. Why this physical test? Is it necessary? A ruler can be fit yet not fit to rule.”

Genza’s shoulders lifted. “It is a tradition. It increases the chances that a ruler will last a while. The physical trial isn’t overly demanding, but it removes the weak and those inclined to laziness and excess.”

“They might put aside laziness and excess only for as long as it takes to win.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “And there is always the chance that a candidate’s youth will allow them to perform well now, only to be ruined by excess later. Ah, speaking of excess...”

Servants were entering the pavilion carrying platters of food and large pitchers. For the next hour or so Genza encouraged all her companions to eat and drink. From their constant thanks Mirar guessed she had paid for the feast.

From time to time a candidate would be seen and pointed out, and the conversation would turn to speculation and wagers increased. The two young men were the first to return to the pavilion, where they were set to the task of picking up heavy stone balls of increasing sizes. The woman arrived next, but struggled with the lifting task. The sharp-eyed man followed soon after and managed well, while the older man came last but surprised all with his strength.

Now a large frame of wood the size of a room was wheeled to the pavilion by several muscular men. It was covered in a fine netting. A simple but beautiful timing device of glass tubes was set in front of Genza. Mirar heard a low whine over the chatter around him. It grew louder as five large baskets were carried to the frame and set on the ground.

The city was buzzing with voices and Mirar sensed their rising excitement and curiosity. From the candidates he detected anxiety and a little dread. The muscular young man appeared to be the most frightened.

Genza inspected the frame, walking around it slowly. When she had circled it, she turned to the candidates.

“This is a test of your magical skills. As you have all guessed, each of these baskets contains zappers. A hundred in each, which I can assure you was no easy task to arrange. You will enter the cage and the net will be secured. The zappers will be released. You must protect yourself and kill the entire swarm as quickly as possible with magic.” She smiled. “If any of you doubt your ability to complete this task please step aside now. We have a Dreamweaver here, but I’m sure he’d prefer not to spend the afternoon removing zapper larvae from your bodies.”

None of the candidates moved, though the muscular young man shuddered.

“Good. Who would like to go first?”

The candidates exchanged glances, then the sharp-eyed man stepped forward. There was a cheer from the crowd. Genza told him to pick up a basket and carry it inside. He set it in a corner, then backed to the far side of the cage. The netting was carefully fixed back into place.

Genza waited until all was silent, then she made the smallest gesture with one hand. The lid of the basket flew off and a black cloud rushed out.

The sharp-eyed man attacked with magic immediately, turning the zappers’ attention to himself. It was hard to see the insects, they were moving so fast. Mirar caught glimpses of segmented tails and antennae. The buzz of their wings was deafening, but the stunning flashes of their magic were silent.

Mirar had heard of these jungle insects. The magical stun of one insect was painful although not fatal, but when struck by many stings at once an animal could be paralyzed. Most of the time the insects stunned only to protect their nests. But at certain times, triggered by the full moon, the insects stunned in order to lay eggs in living flesh. A lamp hung over a basket of zappers triggered the same instinct.

Which was hardly needed for this Trial. The zappers would attack savagely enough without being induced to lay eggs, and the candidates were not being tested for their ability to fight them, but how long it took to kill them all.

The buzz had diminished now. As the sharp-faced man killed the last of the insects Genza glanced at the water timer.

“Five and a half measures. Well done.”

Mirar found himself caught up in the tension despite himself as the other contestants each had their turn in the cage. The sharp-faced man proved to be the fastest, though the older man was nearly as quick. The serious young man picked the zappers off slowly, which told Mirar that he probably wasn’t Gifted enough to draw magic for multiple strikes.

The floor of the cage rattled with dead zappers as it was wheeled away. Now the candidates were given stools to sit on and some water and fruit to eat. Genza invited a patriarch in the pavilion to ask questions of them. The man described complicated trading scenarios that involved mathematics and an understanding of trading terms, and it soon became clear that the older man struggled with both.

As Genza chose another in the pavilion to ask a question, then another, Mirar began to wonder if all in the shelter would be required to quiz the candidates. The war chiefs and the Dedicated Servants seized the opportunity with enthusiasm, asking strategy and religion-related questions. The other patriarchs and matriarchs tested the candidates on law and moral dilemmas.

When all had had their turn Genza turned to him.

“I have not asked you to prepare a question, Dreamweaver Mirar, but you may ask one if you wish.”

He nodded. “Thank you. I would be honored.” He turned to face the candidates. “This is a question for all of you. It does not involve calculations or recitation of laws. I am merely interested to know: what will you do for the people below during your rule?”

The woman smiled, the older man flushed red with pleasure and straightened with pride, but the three other candidates frowned. For the thin, serious young man it was a frown of thoughtfulness, however. The other two were scowling.

“Ask them what they need and want, and provide what can be affor—” the woman began.

“Build platforms,” the older man said. “The city can afford it. Once we’re off the ground we’ll have the same chances as everyone else, and the city will be healthier all in all.”

Mirar turned to the sharp-eyed man. The man looked at Genza, then shrugged.

“Nothing. There will always be people below. There’s nothing we can do to help them if they won’t help themselves.”

The older man turned to glare at him. His mouth opened, but as Genza cleared her throat he stilled and hunched sullenly on his stool.

Mirar looked at the two young men. The muscular one shrugged. “Offer help only to those who’ll work for it.”

“Yes,” the serious one said. “Though we can’t expect the truly feeble or the very young to work. Some help can be freely given, some should encourage improvement. We must accept that there will always be outcasts and those who cannot help themselves, but for the sake of the city and decency we should look for ways to improve their surroundings.”

“An interesting question to end with,” Genza said. She stood up and her voice echoed through the city. “Now begins the Trial of Reputation.”

The candidates rose and moved to one side. Servants removed the stools. Mirar realized that the rain had stopped and the weak sunlight had brightened a little.

Genza rose. “The Reputation of each candidate is now on trial,” she called out. “Anyone may speak for or against them. We will listen and consider your words.”

For the next few hours people filed through the pavilion, stopping to tell of their encounters with one or more of the candidates. Some were there just to get a look at Genza or speak of minor wrongs like being short-changed.

Mirar began to see that the older man was a popular leader among the people below, while the woman was well-loved by those above. Few had anything ill to say of either of them.

The younger men proved to have fewer supporters and more detractors. The muscular, young man was inclined to foolish, drunken behavior. The sharp-eyed man’s most damning critic was a limping, battered merchant who claimed an assassin had been sent to kill him so he wouldn’t reveal the illegal trading the man was involved in.

A bell rang out, marking the end of the Trial. Some of those who had not spoken yet were angered by this, but all were sent away. Once more Genza addressed the crowd.

“Now the Trial of Popularity begins. Leave your ribbons in the baskets provided. Tonight the baskets will be weighed, the points of each candidate tallied, and the new High Chieftain announced.”

Mirar watched as the citizens of Kave began to file across the bridge. They selected lengths of ribbon from a huge basket then placed them into one of five smaller baskets bedecked with the colors of the candidates. A Servant stood by each basket, watching closely.

Genza returned to her seat, then grimaced apologetically at Mirar. “I’m afraid this is the least interesting part of the rites, but at least we have each other for company.”

“It has been more entertaining than I expected,” he told her. “I am grateful for the invitation.”

She laughed quietly. “That is good. So. One of those five will be High Chieftain of Dekkar at the end of the day,” she said. “Who do you think will win?”

“The one you and the people of Dekkar find most suitable,” he replied.

“How diplomatic. Do you care to guess which that will be?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know enough about them.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You truly haven’t taken any interest in them, have you?”

“No.”

“I would have thought you’d be at least a little concerned about who the next High Chieftain is. He or she will be the one you will have to deal with.”

“I doubt I’ll have any reason to. I prefer not to involve myself in politics.”

She smiled. “But what if politics decides to involve itself in you?”

“I will endeavor to discourage it.”

“And me? Will you try to discourage me?”

Mirar’s skin prickled in warning. He made himself smile. “If I must, though I’ll admit I would gain no pleasure from it.”

Her smile widened. “Then don’t. I will be returning to Glymma in a few days. I want you to accompany me. You should meet my fellow Voices.”

A chill ran down Mirar’s spine. This was no invitation, though it wasn’t a straight order. He regarded her seriously. “Be assured I am honored by the invitation. I do intend to visit Glymma and would like to meet the other Voices. I would prefer to have seen more of Southern Ithania first. Must my visit be so soon?”

She nodded. “Your travels can wait. There can be nothing more important for you now than establishing a friendly acquaintance with us.” Her expression softened and she tilted her head. “And I think you will provide entertaining company on my return journey.”

Mirar suppressed a sigh. He was not going to be able to refuse her.

“When do you leave?”

“In two days.”

A cheer gave him an excuse to shift his attention away. The muscular young man was performing acrobatics to entertain the voters. Genza snorted softly.

“Thank the gods the Chieftain is not chosen by popularity alone,” she murmured.

“Do the Trials have any effect on the decision?”

She gave him an affronted look that was clearly faked.

“Of course they do. If we didn’t let the people think they had a part in it, they might not accept our decision.”

He nodded. “I guessed as much.”

“You disapprove?”

“Not at all. I know you’ll choose wisely.”

“How can you be sure?”

“While you and your fellow Voices are probably willing to sort out any troubles in Kave, I’m sure you’d rather not make the long journey here too often, especially not in summer.”

She chuckled. “Kave isn’t at its best this time of year. There’s no better time to visit Glymma, actually. Will you come with me?”

He smothered a sigh and considered. I have no pressing reason to refuse and risk offending her and the other Voices. Since I will most likely meet these Voices eventually, it may as well be at their invitation. He nodded.

“Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I shall arrange a cabin for you on my barge.”

Another cheer came from the crowd. Looking out at the city, Mirar thought back to the battle between the Circlians and the Pentadrians. He remembered watching a black-robed woman, one of the Pentadrian leaders, slaughtering mortals with magic. He realized then that Genza was the Voice that had bred the black birds that had savaged the Siyee, clawing at wings and eyes and sending sky people falling to their deaths.

So? Auraya probably killed just as many Pentadrians, he reminded himself.

But somehow it was easier to imagine Auraya feeling bad about it than Genza.

Auraya had learned much about Nekaun, the First Voice of the Gods, since the previous day. After she had taken the food she had stolen to the two Siyee, she had carried Mischief to a new vantage point. From there she watched with both mind and eyes the activities below. Though she could not sense the mind of the First Voice, she could observe him through others.

He had been elected by his people, not by his gods. Prior to his election he had been in charge of a temple dedicated to one of the Pentadrian goddesses, Hrun. That goddess was a benign one concerned with love and family, and his role had been to arrange and lead the rituals of the Temple.

The Second Voice of the Gods, Imenja, was rumored to dislike and disagree with Nekaun. This was attributed to the fact that Imenja’s adviser, Companion Reivan, was known to be Nekaun’s current lover. All expected this situation to improve when Nekaun, notoriously fickle, moved on to a new lover.

Good to see our enemies enjoy just as much scandal and gossip as we do, she thought.

Imenja and two of the other Voices were in Glymma. Ironically, it was Genza, the woman in charge of the fighting birds the Siyee had tried to attack, who was furthest from the city, attending to a ceremony in the south of the continent.

Auraya had also learned much about the Pentadrian religion. Information gathered by the White’s spies had told her the names of the Voices and their gods, as well as a few Dedicated Servants, but no Circlian spies had been able to supply many details of their beliefs and hierarchy. All Servants could wield magic except, interestingly, this Companion Reivan, who had gained the position in return for a good deed during the war.

Reivan had been a member of a group of intellectuals known as the Thinkers. In Jarime there were social circles of academics and enthusiasts, but nothing like this organized society of men and women of learning.

Not long after dawn the town had begun to stir. Auraya had watched, Mischief curled up in her lap, as the inhabitants had risen and set about their daily tasks. Some of the Pentadrians, however, were occupied with less routine work: tending to and arranging for the transportation of their Siyee prisoners to Glymma.

Auraya watched as uncovered platten were hired in one part of the town and Siyee were given water and bread in another. She observed Nekaun through the eyes of his Servants. All the time she looked for flaws in their plans that might give her and the Siyee the opportunity for escape.

So far the Siyee had been securely imprisoned close to Nekaun inside a building. Once outside, the only person who could prevent her freeing them was Nekaun. Any attempt to free them would have to happen before they reached Glymma. She was sure escape would be much harder to arrange once they reached the city.

A line of platten now waited outside the building. The First Voice emerged and walked around the vehicles as if inspecting them. She tensed as she detected the Siyee’s fear rising. They were being taken out of the room they had been imprisoned within. Pentadrians guided them firmly out of the building. She watched as, one by one, they were taken outside, lifted into the platten and bound to iron rings attached to the vehicles’ sides.

If only Nekaun wasn’t here, she thought.

But even if he hadn’t been, how could she have freed the Siyee without fighting off the attacks of the Servants? She ground her teeth. Chaia’s voice echoed in her memory.

:... If this ambush of yours leads to Auraya turning from us...

She was determined to disappoint Huan. If she was going to fail a test of loyalty, it would be by doing something much less trivial than fighting when she had been ordered not to.

But what if not fighting leads to the Siyee’s deaths? Auraya’s jaw ached from grinding her teeth. She rubbed it, then sighed. I’ll only be able to decide that when - if - the time comes. But if they die I will make Huan pay for it. Somehow.

She grimaced at her own thoughts then. How had she come to the point of wishing to take revenge on a god she had once loved?

Mirar would find this amusing.

The platten were full of Siyee and Pentadrians now. The last of the vehicles bore only Nekaun and a driver. They began to move.

People paused to stare as the procession wound through the town. The Siyee were a strange sight to them. A frightening one, too. Siyee had killed many Pentadrians during the war.

As the platten reached the edge of the town and set out along the road to Glymma, Auraya began to rise. Mischief gave a sleepy whine of protest as she lifted him into her pack.

“Pack bad,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry, Mischief,” she told him.

Stepping off the rock pinnacle she had been sitting on all night, she propelled herself after the Siyee and their captors.

21

A familiar figure stood before the Sanctuary flame, head bowed. Reivan approached slowly and stopped several steps away, not wanting to interrupt Imenja’s thoughts. She heard the Second Voice murmur a prayer, then saw her straighten.

“Ah, Reivan.” Imenja turned and smiled. “What do we have to sort out today?”

Reivan walked to Imenja’s side. The flame twisted and snapped like fine cloth in a wind. Its constant movement was hypnotic, and it was said the gods could steal one’s sanity if one dared look at it too long. She forced her eyes away.

“Karneya has appealed to us again to release his son from slavery. You asked me to report whenever he did.”

Imenja grimaced. “I pity him. It is hard to accept that one’s own child has committed a terrible crime.”

“In any other land his son would have been executed.”

“Yes,” the Second Voice agreed. “And we cannot grant his request, but I will write to him. What else?”

“Tiemel Steerer wants to become a Servant, but he believes his father will disapprove.”

“He’s right. This will be a difficult one.”

“His father cannot prevent him.”

“He’ll try. Even if it means having him kidnapped and sent to Jarime.”

“Does he disapprove of us that much?”

Imenja laughed. “No, quite the opposite. But Tiemel is his only son. Who will run the ships when he is too old?”

Reivan didn’t answer. Better that the business be sold than the son spend years doing what he hated, his magical Skills wasted.

Imenja turned suddenly, her gaze shifting to the distance. She frowned, then her face relaxed and she sighed.

“These matters will have to wait,” she said. “Our wayward acquaintance has returned.”

Reivan felt a thrill of hope. “Nekaun?”

Imenja nodded and smiled knowingly. “Yes.”

The Second Voice’s smile widened as Reivan felt herself blush. “Come on then. Let’s go together.”

She led Reivan away from the flame into the Sanctuary buildings. At first the Servants they saw were quiet, pausing to make the sign of the star as Imenja passed. Then a messenger raced past, his urgency making Imenja pause and frown. Closer to the entrance of the Sanctuary they encountered small groups of Servants whispering together.

“What’s going on?” Reivan asked.

Imenja sighed. “They’ve heard reports he’s bringing prisoners with him. Not ordinary men either.”

Hearing the frustration in Imenja’s voice, Reivan decided to keep her questions to herself. It was already clear her mistress hadn’t approved of Nekaun’s secrecy. If people realized the other Voices hadn’t known the reason for his disappearance they might conclude that Nekaun didn’t trust them, or value their opinions.

They reached the hall and crossed to the other side. Shar and Vervel waited within one of the arches. Imenja walked over to join them.

“Here he comes,” Shar murmured.

Following their gaze, Reivan saw that a crowd was emerging from one of the crossroads of the Parade. It spilled out into the main thoroughfare and split into two, allowing room for several open platten to approach the Sanctuary.

Inside the platten were Servants and several children, the latter tied by their wrists to the rails of the vehicles.

Reivan heard shocked gasps around her and found herself agreeing. Why had Nekaun taken all these children prisoner? What could they have done to deserve this treatment?

“Siyee,” Vervel said, his voice low and dark with hatred.

Siyee? Reivan looked closer. The faces of the prisoners were not those of children, but of adults. Memories of the war rushed into her mind. It had been hard to judge the size of the sky people when they were in the air. She had seen dead ones on the ground, however. Had even examined one of them, fascinated and repelled by the distortions of their limbs and the membrane that formed their wings. Some of her fellow Thinkers had wanted to take a few home to study, but the Voices had forbidden it.

The last platten had only one passenger, and her heart swelled to see Nekaun smiling broadly. As the platten stopped he leapt out and strode effortlessly up the stairs. He did not look at Reivan; his attention was fixed on his fellow Voices.

“How have you all been the last few days?” he asked. “I hope everything ran smoothly in my absence.”

“Smoothly enough,” Vervel said calmly. “I see you’ve been busy.”

“Yes.” Nekaun turned to look at the platten. The Servants had begun untying the prisoners from the rings. The Siyee were bound together at the ankle. “The gods informed me that Siyee warriors were coming to attack Klaff and that I should deal with them and their sorceress.”

“Sorceress?” Shar repeated.

Nekaun looked up at the sky, his gaze roving about. “The former White.”

Imenja drew in a sharp breath and looked up. “Auraya?”

He looked at her and smiled. “Yes. She followed us here so I have no doubt she is somewhere close.”

“Is she a danger?” Vervel asked.

“I don’t think so. The Siyee believe her gods have forbidden her to fight us.” Nekaun smiled, then looked down at the sky people. “I had better escort our prisoners to their cells.” He took a step away. Reivan felt a pang of disappointment. He hadn’t looked at her. Not even a glance.

“There are no prison cells in Sanctuary,” Imenja pointed out.

Nekaun turned and smiled at her. “Yes there are, they just haven’t been used for a very long time.”

As he turned away, Imenja made a small stifled sound.

“The caves,” she said with obvious disgust. “What are we becoming?”

“They are our enemy and they did try to attack us,” Shar reminded her.

“The Siyee belong in the prison complex,” she said. “Outside the Sanctuary.”

“Nekaun needs to be close to prevent Auraya rescuing them,” Shar said, shrugging. “We can’t expect him to live in the prison complex.”

Imenja frowned at him, then sighed. Reivan hesitated as her mistress turned and stalked away. The Second Voice stopped and looked back. She smiled with obvious effort.

“Come, Companion Reivan,” she said quietly. “We have work to do.”

Sreil hurt all over. His arms were sore from being held in one position for so long and his wrists were red and blistered from the ropes, but that was not all. The vehicles that had carried them to the city had shaken and jerked constantly until Sreil imagined all his bones would surely be loosened from their joints. His muscles were sore from bracing himself against the rocking, and his side was bruised from knocking against the railing.

It was only the beginning. There was sure to be worse to come. He had been certain of it from the moment the net pinned him down. The Pentadrians hadn’t killed them, so they must have some other terrible plan.

The previous night, tied up in a large room covered with dried grass and in the company of the animals that pulled the vehicles, he had slept fitfully. Nightmares had taunted him, shaped from old stories of the early days of the Siyee. A time when their bodies had warped and changed. The older ones whispered these stories late at night. It was wise to remember the sacrifice and the cost of transformation, they whispered. The pain. The suffering of the failures. The deformed ones.

Those stories came back to haunt him, perhaps drawn out by the twisting of his arms. A single torch on a stand provided the only light in the enormous room they were in now, making the broad columns they had been chained to look like the trees of the Open. On a raised area to one side an enormous stone chair towered over them, crumbling with age. Perhaps one of the Pentadrian gods visited from time to time. At that thought, he could not help also imagining that the Siyee had been left here as sacrifices.

If he pushed his mind away from such dark places he only ended up thinking about his mother and the grief she would feel when she heard of their failure. He hoped the two Siyee that had escaped made it back home. If they didn’t his mother might send more Siyee out to find out what had happened. It was clear he and his warriors had been betrayed, so it was likely that any others who came would also be ambushed and captured.

“Sreil.”

He jumped at the voice and turned to see that the Siyee chained to the other side of the column was peering around at him.

“Tiseel?”

“I’ve been thinking,” the warrior said. “About who betrayed us.”

Sreil noticed that other Siyee had heard and were watching him.

“So have I,” he said.

“You don’t think... you don’t think Auraya could have?”

“No,” Sreil said firmly.

“But she didn’t help us.”

“She isn’t allowed to. The gods forbade her to fight, remember.”

Tiseel sighed. “Why did they do that? It doesn’t make sense. Or maybe she’s just saying they have.”

“Teel said so, too. If she had betrayed us, she would have ridden with the Pentadrians, not followed us from the air,” Sreil reasoned. “The Pentadrian leader kept watching her, as if he was worried she’d attack him.”

Other Siyee nodded in agreement.

“Then who?” Tiseel asked. “Surely not a Siyee.”

Sreil shook his head. “No. What would anyone have to gain?”

“Landwalkers did it,” someone hissed. “A spy who heard about our plans from the White.”

“That’s possible,” Sreil agreed.

“Or maybe the Elai,” another said.

Heads turned toward the speaker. He shrugged. “I heard the Sand Tribe suspect the Elai are trading with Pentadrians.”

“They’d never betray us,” Tiseel said. “How could they have heard of our plans, anyway?”

“Huan says the Pentadrian sorcerer is a mind-reader,” a new voice said. All eyes turned to Teel. “He probably read our intentions from our minds when we flew over the city.”

Sreil felt his heart sink. I led us over the city. It was all my fault. But how could I have known their leader could do that? Nobody told me. Not Auraya, or Teel...

“Will the gods let Auraya rescue us, Teel?” someone asked.

“I don’t know,” Teel admitted. “Perhaps only if it doesn’t involve fighting.”

“Was our capture part of some bigger plan?”

“I don’t know,” the priest repeated. “All we can do is stay faithful to them and pray.”

And then he began to do the latter. Though a few of the Siyee groaned in annoyance, Sreil felt the words soothe him. It was comforting to hope this was all part of a grander scheme.

That it wasn’t my fault, he told himself.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the young priest’s words in the hope they would keep darker thoughts at bay.

The walls inside the lower levels of Hannaya’s Palace were so thick the rooms appeared to be connected by short passages. Niches had been carved into these and some were lined with fresh stone. Busts of important men and women peered out, their expressions uniformly dour.

Men and a few women hurried about. It was easy for Emerahl to imagine they were eager to be out of this oppressive place, but she sensed no fear from them. There was only the usual undercurrent of irritation, purpose and anxiety she had felt in a dozen other cities.

According to The Twins, the palace had been the home of the royal house that had once ruled Mur but which had long ago died out. The maze of rooms, both grand and crude, were still occupied by the same range of servants, courtiers and artisans, but the ruler was now a Pentadrian Dedicated Servant, known as the Guardian.

Two of the Thinkers searching for the Scrolls were from rich and influential families who lived in the palace. They were providing accommodation for the others. For most of the day, however, the five of them gathered in the library. It was there that Emerahl was heading now.

The boy she had paid to take her there turned toward another passage, leading her deeper into the cliff. Her pulse quickened as he stopped before two large carved wooden doors. The boy held his hand out to her. She dropped a coin into it and he raced away.

Emerahl paused to take a deep breath, then knocked.

A long silence followed. She concentrated on the space behind the door, picking up emotions of several people. Most were distracted and quiet, but one was purposeful and a little irritated.

Then the handle lifted and the door swung inward. An old man peered down his long nose at her.

“Yes?”

“I wish to see the Thinkers,” she told him. “Are they here?”

His eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. Stepping back, he gestured at the room behind him.

And there was a lot of room to gesture at. The roof, like in most rooms in the palace, was disconcertingly low. The far wall, in contrast, was some distance away. The long side walls were lined with shelves piled with scrolls and other objects. Statues and tables covered with arrangements of curious and ancient objects divided the room into three sections.

The old man moved to a scroll-covered table next to a half-empty shelf. He lifted a piece of wet cloth from a clay tablet and put it aside, then picked up a scribing tool. As he turned his attention to his scrolls, Emerahl smiled wryly. Clearly she was to find the Thinkers herself.

She walked down the length of the library slowly, examining the objects on display. Several men of different ages were scattered about the room, some reading, some writing, and a few talking quietly together. At the far end five men of differing ages were relaxing on benches, talking. Fragrant smoke wreathed up from a smokewood burner set between them, most likely some kind of stimulant.

As Emerahl approached, the three men who were not talking looked up at her. The younger watched her curiously, while the others turned their attention back to the speakers. She stopped between the benches of the pair who were talking, and the conversation ended. A large man with thick eyebrows and a thin, lipless man looked up at her and frowned in annoyance.

“Greetings, Thinkers,” she said. Now all were watching her. She glanced from face to face and settled on meeting the stare of the larger man. “Are you Barmonia Tithemaster?”

The eyebrows rose slightly. “I am.”

“I am Emmea Startracker, daughter of Karo Startracker, a nobleman and mathematician of Toren.”

“You are far from home,” the youngest of the men remarked.

“Yes. My father and I have an interest in antiquities.” She lifted the box containing the fake scroll. “Recently he bought this, but being unfit to travel he sent me here on his behalf to search out more information. My enquiries have led me to you. I think you will find it most interesting.”

The large man made a skeptical noise. “I doubt it.”

“I did not mean the box,” she said dryly. “I meant the contents.”

“I assumed so,” he said.

She met his eyes again. “I was warned that the Thinkers had no manners, respect for women, or personal hygiene, but I did expect to find clever and enquiring minds.” This brought a smile to the younger Thinker’s face, but the others looked indifferent.

“We’re wise enough to know no foreign woman could ever bring anything of interest to us.”

She looked at the burner then smiled and nodded to herself. “I see.”

Turning away, she strolled back down the length of the library. On a heavy table lay a slab of stone, carved with ancient glyphs. To her surprise it was a monument stone from a long-ago dismantled Temple of Jarime - or Raos, as it had once been known. She had probably walked past this very stone in its original resting place many times. How had it come to Mur?

Footsteps drew closer and she realized that someone was approaching. She kept her eyes on the stone, expecting the man to pass, but he didn’t. He moved to her side and when she looked up she realized it was the younger of the Thinkers.

She resisted a smile. Of course it was.

“Bar’s always been like that,” he said. “He doesn’t like women much. I hope that you are not too disappointed.”

“It is his loss, not mine. Tell me, how did this monument stone come to be here?”

He shrugged. “It has always been here.”

She chuckled. “Now I am disappointed. Are you Thinkers so befuddled by your smoking herbs that you don’t even know the treasures you have here?”

“This is no treasure.”

“A monument stone from ancient Raos no treasure? Do you know how rare these are? The Circlians destroyed so much from the Age of the Many that our history is in fragments.” She pointed at a glyph. “This priest, Gaomea, is one of the few whose names are still known.” She ran her finger down the line of symbols, translating to Murian. “Are there any other stones like this here?”

He was staring at her now. “I don’t know, but I can ask the librarian for you. If there is anything here, he’ll show you if I ask for it.”

She turned to regard him. “It’s that bad?”

“What?”

“I can’t ask for them myself?”

He grimaced. “No. Like Bar said, you’re a woman and foreign.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Well, I suppose it’s still better than home. The only way you can see old treasures is to buy them off a rich noble, and only if he or she is willing to sell.”

He led her away from the table toward the old man cataloguing his scrolls. “All this belongs to the Pentadrians,” he said in a voice that indicated he didn’t think much of that.

“At least they haven’t destroyed it. The Circlians would have. I was lucky to save this.” She patted the box.

“So... what’s in there?”

“Just a fragment of a scroll.”

“Why did you come here with it?”

She paused and regarded him carefully. “It’s in Sorl.”

He stared at her in disbelief. She continued on as if mistaking his silence for puzzlement.

“An ancient priest tongue of Mur. I would have thought you’d know that.” She shook her head as if exasperated. “I was hoping it would make more sense to a local, who might know the places it refers to and what ‘breath offering’ means.” She slipped the box into a bag at her waist. “Could we ask about those treasures now? I think they’re all that’s going to make this trip worth the effort.”

The tension and excitement within the young man was palpable. With admirable self-control he kept silent. She was expecting this: the younger Thinkers rarely did anything without consulting their powerful peers first.

“Then I’ll just have to make sure old Rikron shows you everything.”

22

Auraya had tested a few limits to her abilities in the last few days. It was not possible for her to sleep and remain airborne at the same time, so she had remained awake as she hovered over Glymma. After a few sleepless days it became difficult to concentrate, so last night, at Juran’s urging, she had retreated to the hills to rest.

Her willingness to obey the gods was constantly tested. She could hear the thoughts of the Siyee. She knew they were chained somewhere below the Sanctuary. She knew they were frightened and despairing.

But they had not been harmed physically. Nobody in the Sanctuary - nobody whose mind she could read - knew what Nekaun planned to do with his prisoners. Some thought he intended to ransom them. Others considered a possibility Auraya was glad the Siyee had not considered: that the sky people would be handed over to a group known as the Thinkers, who would probably study and experiment on them.

Returning to her position high above the Sanctuary, Auraya began to skim the minds of those below.

The first mind she found was that of a Servant given the task of alerting the Voices if Auraya approached the Temple. The woman had already seen Auraya. She had informed Nekaun telepathically through her star pendant.

Auraya ignored the woman and skimmed over the minds of other Servants and the domestics that took care of mundane chores. Fragments of prayers, recipes, sums and songs came to her. Snatches of gossip, instruction and intrigue threatened to distract her. But her need to find the Siyee was all-consuming.

There. They’re still there.

The impracticalities of being physically chained to the same place were beginning to have an effect. She sensed humiliation and revulsion as well as fear. Then she sensed their fear deepen. Looking closer, she saw that one of the Siyee was being taken away. She felt her stomach clench and realized she had let herself drop toward the Sanctuary. Pulling up, she watched and waited, dread growing.

She saw Nekaun through the Siyee’s eyes. Nekaun said something, but the Siyee was too frightened to comprehend it. Something about leaving.

Then the chains were removed from the Siyee’s wrists. Doors opened and the sky appeared. The Siyee took a step forward, but the man caught his shoulder in a firm grip.

“Tell her to meet me on top of the Sanctuary,” he said slowly.

The Siyee nodded. He was to be a messenger. That was the price of his freedom. The man holding the Siyee let go. The Siyee staggered forward toward the doors. There was a short drop outside. Was this a window, then? No matter. The wind was good. His legs were still stiff. He stretched his arms - he ought to warm his muscles up more before attempting to fly but he wasn’t going to stay any longer than he had to.

Reaching the opening, he leapt out and felt his heart soar with joy as the wind lifted him up.

Free... but what of the others? He circled higher. The man wants to speak to Auraya. Maybe she can work something out. But where is she?

Auraya descended quickly. The Siyee saw her and rose to meet her. He flew in a tight circle around her.

“The leader freed me,” he told her. “Gave me a message for you. He wants to meet you. On top of the buildings.”

She whistled that she understood.

“How are the others?”

He described what she had seen in the Siyee’s minds: the hall, the lack of sanitation and his fears that they would soon lose the ability to fly.

“I took food and water for Zyee and Siti to leave at the places we camped,” she told him. “Is your water skin empty?”

“Yes.”

“Swap it with mine.”

She flew alongside him to make the exchange. When she was done he circled around her, looking down anxiously.

“Can I help?”

“No. Go home.”

He whistled an acknowledgment.

“Then good luck. Be careful. Could be a trap.”

“I know.”

She watched him fly away. He was tired and hungry. How would he manage to return to Si, across the Sennon desert, with no food but the little she had stolen from Klaff and only one skin of water?

I should have stolen more and flown it back to some of our camps in Sennon. She frowned. Maybe I should do that now, as well as catch up with him and...

:Auraya?

She looked down. A mind was calling her name. Concentrating, she identified the Servant woman given the task of watching for her. The woman was uncertain that her call would be heard, but Nekaun had asked her to try.

Auraya searched for the woman. She found three figures standing on the roof of the topmost Sanctuary building. The woman, Nekaun and another, who was full of suppressed excitement and self-importance.

:Juran? Auraya called.

:Auraya. What is happening?

She told him that Nekaun had freed a Siyee in order to give her a message, and of his request.

:Should I meet with him? she asked.

:This could be a trap, Juran warned.

:I’m willing to take that risk. If I don’t meet with Nekaun, he might retaliate by killing Siyee.

:Go then. See what he wants.

She looked up at the tiny speck that was the escaping Siyee.

:If Nekaun wants to ransom the Siyee, will you agree to it?

:That depends on the price.

Taking a deep breath she drew magic, created a barrier around herself and began to descend. She felt a movement in her pack and cursed under her breath. If only she’d thought to ask the Siyee to take Mischief with him. But the veez would have been an extra weight the Siyee didn’t need.

Three upturned faces watched her. The woman looked at Nekaun abruptly, made a gesture with her hands, then walked away. She lifted a hatch in the roof of the building and descended into darkness.

Auraya landed several strides away from the two men.

Nekaun smiled. “Welcome to Glymma, Auraya,” he said in heavily accented Hanian.

Looking at the man standing beside the Voice, Auraya read from his mind that he was Turaan, Nekaun’s Companion, and was here to help translate. His master did not yet know any of the northern languages well and doubted Auraya had learned any of the southern ones.

I must be careful to avoid showing an understanding of anything said in the southern languages, she thought. Nekaun might reason that I have learned them somehow, but the gods will know that isn’t true and guess that I’m reading minds.

“Welcome?” she replied in Hanian. “I doubt I am.”

Nekaun’s smile widened. He spoke in his own language and Turaan repeated his words in Hanian. “Not to some, but they do not understand your reasons for being here.”

“And you do?”

“Perhaps. I must admit, I am guessing at a few matters. From the Siyee’s minds I learned you are forbidden to fight. I guess from this that you are here only to protect them. I think maybe you mean my people no harm.”

“Only if you do no harm to mine.”

His eyebrows rose. “Yet they came here to harm my people.”

She smiled thinly. “That is not true.”

He frowned, then chuckled. “Ah, that is right. They came here to harm the birds. So if a few people got in the way, the Siyee would not have hurt them?”

Auraya crossed her arms. “I did not give them their orders.”

“It must be difficult to love a people yet watch others rule them badly.”

“It is not a unique position to be in.”

His gaze wavered, as if what she had said had caused him to think of something, then steadied again. “I make you an offer. If you will stay here and let me show you my people and my city, I will free the Siyee. For every day you are here one will be freed.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “All I have to do is stay here?”

“And let me show you my people.”

“Why?”

His expression became serious. “Your people do not understand mine. You think us cruel and depraved. I wish to show that this isn’t so.” He grimaced. “I do not want to harm the Siyee nor do I want to enslave them, as is allowable by our laws. I could ask for money in exchange for their freedom but I do not need it. What I want more is peace. You are not a White, but I doubt a White would ever come here no matter how humble our request. However, you are their ally. You can tell them what you see here.” He looked at her earnestly. “Will you stay?”

Auraya regarded him suspiciously. It might still be a trap. There was no knowledge of one in Turaan’s mind, but he might not have been told.

So? Some risks are worth taking, for the sake of the Siyee.

“One Siyee every day,” she repeated.

“Yes.”

“I must witness them leave.”

“Of course.”

“You will give them food and water for the journey home?”

“It will be arranged.”

“And sanitation for those that remain?”

“I have people already seeking a solution to that problem.”

“Will you swear it on your gods?”

He smiled. “I swear, on Sheyr, Hrun, Alor, Ranah and Sraal, I will release one Siyee prisoner per day and night you remain here, and that you will not be harmed during that time.”

She looked away, as if considering.

:Juran?

:Yes?

She described the terms of the bargain.

:He will try to recruit or convert you.

:I expect so. He will fail.

:Yes. I believe he will. This is a dangerous game, Auraya, but if you’re willing to play it, you have our approval. Good luck.

Meeting Nekaun’s eyes, Auraya nodded once.

“I will stay.”

After reporting to Emerahl and The Twins, telling them of Genza’s request that he travel with her to Glymma, Mirar had let himself drift into sleep. He dreamed Auraya was trying to tell him something, but a knock interrupted her. Then he realized his eyes were open and he was staring, awake, at the ceiling.

Something just woke me up. Sitting up, he frowned and listened. He looked toward the door...

... and sensed both hope and uncertainty. A familiar presence stood beyond the door, determination rapidly waning.

Dardel. She’s finally got up the courage to approach me again.

For a moment he was caught between conflicting feelings. The memory of Auraya’s presence in his dream lingered in his mind. Yet he knew this opportunity to reassure Dardel might not come again.

Auraya isn’t here, he told himself. She’s not in love with you.

Standing up, he walked to the door and opened it. Dardel stared up at him, eyes wide.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I heard you were leaving. I came to... to say goodbye.”

Though she did not meet his eyes, he could feel her conflicting emotions. She was hoping they would do more than just say goodbye.

“I’m glad you did,” he told her. “Dardel...”

She looked up. He raised an eyebrow. Her lips curled into a smile. “I hope you don’t mind the late hour. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Not at all. These hot nights do make sleeping difficult. Would you like to come in and... talk?”

She slipped past him into the room. Shutting the door, he turned to find her shrugging out of her vest. “This heat just makes me want to take off all my clothes.”

He laughed quietly. “I thought I was the only one.”

Coming over to him, she took hold of his vest. “Let me help you.”

Dreamweaver robes discarded, they moved to the bed. She smelled of sweat and jungle flowers; the moonlight caught the curve of a shoulder. Breast. Hip. Warm skin under his palms. Hands moving over his body. They drew ever nearer, teasing with fingers, exploring with lips, until they couldn’t get any closer. He felt her heels press into his back and then they were rocking back and forth, the only sounds their breathing and the soft creak of the bed, taking him ever closer to that moment when pleasure overtook thought.

When thought returned she pulled away from him. He reached out to touch her, but she caught his hand. Surprised, he looked at her closely and sensed a thoughtfulness.

“Something is different,” she said. She looked at him. “I thought it would be more exciting now I know who you are. But it isn’t. It’s...” She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

He leaned back against the wall.

“Sometimes a fantasy is more exciting than reality,” he said.

She nodded, then frowned and shook her head again. “It’s not that.” She looked at him and smiled. “Well, it is a bit. But there’s something about you that’s always bothered me. You remind me of... have you...?” She stopped and looked thoughtful. “I get the feeling there’s something distracting you, even when you’re most, um, attentive.” She paused. “I’d normally guess it was a woman. I hope that’s not too presumptuous.”

She was perceptive, he mused. He also recognized her mood. A bit of conversational intimacy sometimes rounded off bedroom encounters nicely, though women liked it more than men. He had learned to appreciate this long ago. They could be frivolous, funny, outrageous or show depths of intelligence and insight. Sometimes they simply needed to talk about their problems. At times a little too much. That took a little patience.

Dardel was no complainer. He could have shrugged off her guess, but there was no reason to, so long as he kept Auraya’s identity secret.

“There is a woman,” he told her.

She looked up at him. “Then why aren’t you with her? Is she in the north?” Her eyes widened. “Are the Circlian gods keeping you apart?”

He smiled. “No. Unfortunately she doesn’t regard me in the same way I regard her.”

“Oh.” Dardel’s shoulders dropped and she smiled at him sympathetically. “Then she’s a fool.”

He chuckled. “The number of times I’ve said that to women in the opposite situation. Now I’m reassured that it helps - a little.”

But Dardel didn’t appear to be listening. Suddenly she looked up and punched him lightly in the shoulder.

“And you just bedded me! How can you do that when you love another!”

He caught her wrist. “Do you really expect me to be celibate for a woman who has no interest in me?”

She smiled. “No. I suppose not.”

“I can think of a few ways you could show your support for my decision not to remain celibate.”

Her eyebrows rose. “I’m sure you can.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “It’s nice to know you’re human enough to be a fool for love.”

“Is it?” He grimaced. “Glad it’s nice for someone.”

“Aw.” She grinned and patted his cheek. “Then I guess I’ll have to make sure it’s extra-nice for you.” Leaning forward, she began to trace her fingers across his chest. He smiled, caught her hand, and pulled her closer.

23

The Sanctuary, in contrast to the Temple, was a jumble of interconnected buildings on several levels. Auraya felt as if she was descending into a maze, yet every time she began to feel trapped and disorientated Nekaun would lead her into a corridor open to the air on one side, or out into a courtyard. She realized that this form of architecture allowed breezes to flow through the building, making the dry heat bearable.

Most of her thoughts circled around the situation she was now in. The Siyee were hostages. They were fortunate to be, as they had come here to attack Pentadrian property - or forces, depending on how the Pentadrians regarded their birds - and could have been killed in retaliation.

Instead they were being used to blackmail her. The price appeared to be small. She must simply stay here a while. Meet Nekaun’s people. That was all.

There has to be more to it than that. At best he will try to gain knowledge about the White from me. At the worst he is keeping me near while he works out if he can kill me.

So far Nekaun had led her about the Sanctuary, stopping here and there to point out decorations or explain the use or significance of features. He was playing the gracious host. She felt that while her body was keeping up, her mind was lagging far behind, not yet fully grasping everything that had happened in the last few days, and the full consequences of what she had agreed to.

Nekaun said something in a grand tone.

“And here,” Turaan translated, “are your rooms.”

A servant opened a large pair of double doors. Auraya drew her attention back to her surroundings and followed Nekaun inside. The first room was the size of a house and sparsely furnished. Nekaun gestured at a doorway. Stepping through, Auraya found herself in a broad room filled with an enormous bed. An archway to one side led to a room covered entirely with tiles, a sunken, empty pool in the center.

“Domestics will bring you water when you wish to bathe,” Nekaun told her through Turaan. He pointed to glass and pottery bottles. “A selection of perfumes and oils.”

So I am to live in luxury while the Siyee are chained beneath the ground.

“I want to speak to the Siyee,” she found herself saying. “It is needlessly cruel for them to be ignorant of our agreement.”

Nekaun regarded her thoughtfully.

“I will take you to them,” Turaan translated. “But only if you swear by your gods that you will not attempt to free them. I would have to stop you, and they might be hurt in the process. I do not wish to harm them.”

“I understand,” she replied. “I swear on the Circle that I will not attempt to rescue the Siyee you hold captive while our bargain holds.”

He nodded. “Follow me.”

To her relief he did not stroll along pointing out features of the Sanctuary as he had before. Nor did he set a swift pace, however.

“The Siyee regard you as their own personal White,” he said. “They believe you consider them your own people. Is that true?”

“It is and it isn’t. I am not Siyee. I will never be Siyee.”

“But you have much in common with them. Flying, for instance.”

“Yes.”

“Do you regard Si as your home, or Hania?”

She frowned. “Si is my home for now, but I will always have a link with Hania.”

He smiled. “Of course. Did you leave the White in order to live among the Siyee?”

“I am not going to tell you my reasons for leaving the White.”

He chuckled. “I thought not. But I had to ask. It has been the source of much speculation here.”

They had descended into an underground corridor. The walls were bare and the floor dusty, suggesting this area was little used. The floor dipped slightly at the center, inferring wear over many centuries, perhaps millennia. Intrigued, Auraya looked for other signs that might indicate what this part of the Sanctuary had once been used for.

Nekaun led her through a gate into a passage. They passed a few alcoves, each holding a lamp. At the end they came to a small room. An iron gate filled a large archway, two Servants standing guard on either side. Beyond was a much larger hall filled with columns. At the far end was a chair of enormous size.

It’s an old temple, she thought. That is the throne of a god. A dead god, most likely.

Then a movement drew her attention to the base of a column and she felt her heart sink.

Siyee were chained to the columns. They sat or crouched on the floor, their thoughts despondent and fearful. Wooden bowls had been set by each Siyee for their excrement, and she could smell the stench of it.

“You said your people would provide sanitation,” she said, turning to face Nekaun. “This isn’t healthy.”

Nekaun’s eyebrows rose. “They are prisoners. You can’t expect me to treat them like honored guests.”

She thought of the rooms he had presented to her. “I don’t,” she said. “But I do expect them to be healthy enough to return home when they are freed. They will sicken like this. They must be allowed to exercise or their wing muscles will grow too weak for flying.”

He looked at the Siyee and nodded slowly. “I understand. Once I am sure this hall is secure, I will have them unchained from the columns. An area will be set aside for the collection of excrement.” He spoke to the Servants. One drew a key from beneath his robes then moved to the gate and unlocked it.

Auraya strode inside. The Siyee looked up as she approached, their faces and thoughts full of hope. She searched for Sreil. Finding him, she walked over and crouched beside him.

“Are any of you hurt?”

The young man shook his head. “Scratches, sprains, but nothing more.”

She looked around at the hopeful faces. “I’m not here to free you,” she told them. “At least not today. But I have come to an arrangement with Nekaun, the leader of the Pentadrians. Every day I remain here he will set one of you free.”

“There are over thirty of us,” one of the Siyee said. “That’s a whole month. We won’t be able to fly if we stay like this for a week.”

“I have explained that to him,” she told him. “He has agreed to unchain you.”

“Do you trust him?” Sreil asked.

She looked at him and sighed. “I have to. He swore on his gods. If that doesn’t keep him honest, nothing will.”

“What does he want from you?” the priest asked.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “He says to stay here and meet his people.”

“He will try to corrupt you. Turn you from the gods,” Teel warned.

“No doubt,” she agreed. “Tomorrow morning we will see if he keeps to his word. I will insist on watching him free one of you.”

Among their doubts and hopes was a concern for herself and gratitude for the risk she was taking for them. She could not help feeling a surge of affection for them. If Nekaun had not been watching and listening, she would have moved among them, talking to and reassuring each, but she did not want him to see how much she valued them or his demands in return for their safety might increase. Standing up, she managed a smile.

“Be strong and patient,” she told them. “I’ll be thinking of you all every moment.”

“And we of you,” Sreil said.

Turning away reluctantly, she forced herself to stride back to the gate. Stepping outside, she turned to face Nekaun.

“If any of them are unable to fly from the Sanctuary, our deal is finished.”

He smiled and nodded. “Of course. I will see that they are made more comfortable.”

The Palace library closed in the evenings for all but the “members,” which usually gave the Thinkers all the privacy they needed while discussing their progress in the search for the Gods’ Scroll.

Or lack of progress, Raynora thought. I wonder how many other clues my companions have overlooked or dismissed because they didn’t like the gender or the race of the one who supplied it? Has their jealousy of all with magical Skills driven them to ignore important information too?

He felt a familiar twinge of envy and smiled wryly. All Thinkers coveted magical power, even himself. You always wanted what you couldn’t have. Knowing he couldn’t become a Servant had made him all the more fascinated by them. He’d wanted to be one once, but when a Thinker was ordained in the aftermath of the war he found his interest waning. He couldn’t hope for a role as prestigious as Companion, and the humble life of an ordinary Servant didn’t appeal so much when there still wasn’t magic involved.

Whereas being a Thinker does gain me some respect from others, and I don’t have to give up my assets, small though they may be.

Having come to that conclusion, Ray had found his interest in the Scroll of the Gods diminishing as well. It had been part of his fascination with religion, but now that was gone he was finding the unpleasant personalities of the principal searchers wearing. Barmonia was the driving force of the group, but his arrogance irritated Ray. Mikmer’s cynicism was no longer amusing, and gods help you if you got Kereon started on one of his favorite subjects. The only Thinker close to Ray’s age was Yathyir, but Ray secretly suspected the Dekkan’s parents had made a pact with the gods - to give their son a genius for remembering facts - however, to make room the gods had removed any ability to understand social norms, jokes and subtleties of conversation.

So why am I still here? Well, I was made an offer too good to refuse...

“What are you smiling about, Ray?”

He turned to find Mikmer regarding him suspiciously and felt a pang of guilt. To compensate, Ray grinned even wider. “I was just calculating how much gold the Scroll will bring me when I sell it.”

The others turned to stare at him.

“We are not going to sell the Scroll!” Barmonia declared, his face beginning to turn red already.

“Oh, I don’t imagine you would,” Ray agreed. “But I’m sure you’ll pay a lot to get it off me.”

Yathyir smiled. “He means to find it himself.”

Barmonia’s eyebrows rose. “You think you can do so without our help, do you?”

“Maybe,” Ray replied, lounging in his chair with deliberate nonchalance. “If I can persuade that woman to help me after you all treated her so rudely the other day.”

“That northerner woman!” Barmonia huffed. “You’re welcome to her. All you’ll get from her is scabs.”

“Because all northern women are diseased, are they?”

The big man stared back at him. “No moral woman travels on her own.”

“No moral unSkilled woman, anyway,” Mikmer said quietly.

“She’s Skilled?” Yathyir asked, turning to look at Mikmer. “How do you know?”

The older man’s shoulders lifted slightly. “An educated guess.”

“But you don’t know for sure?” Yathyir asked.

Mikmer rolled his eyes. He was not the most patient of men, especially when it came to Yathyir’s literal way of thinking. “Of course not. Did she use magic while she was here? No. Is it likely I went out and found her and asked her to demonstrate, and she agreed to? No.”

“Oh,” Yathyir replied, looking thoughtful. Fortunately he never took exception to Mikmer’s sarcasm. He accepted it as the normal behavior of an older, more experienced Thinker.

“You think we should use this woman?” Kereon asked Ray.

All turned to regard the man. Kereon rarely spoke unless he felt he had something worthwhile to say, but when he did he could drone on for hours.

“I do,” Ray replied. “She read the tablet as if it was her own language, and hinted that she can read ancient Sorl.”

“And if we bring her here and she can’t?” Mikmer asked.

“No harm done.”

“Unless she learns something of the Scroll from us,” Yathyir warned.

“She won’t learn anything we don’t want her to. She only has to try to read the bones.”

“And if she understands them she’ll know what we’re after,” Barmonia said. “We can’t risk that.”

“Why not? What can she do with that information?”

“She might find it herself.”

“Not if we invite her to join us.”

“Join us!” Barmonia exclaimed. “We’re not working with some foreign flit.”

“She’ll steal the credit from us,” Mikmer agreed.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kereon said, gaining a look of surprise from Barmonia. “Who would believe her? Nobody.” He leaned forward, mostly toward Barmonia. “If she can help us, we invite her in. She’ll accept because she won’t get to see our other artifacts or learn what we know unless she does. When we find out where the Scroll is, her part in it ends.”

Barmonia’s eyes had taken on a gleam of interest.

“She won’t tell us what the bones say unless we take her with us.”

“If she’s clever. Even so, once we have the Scroll we won’t have to give her anything. Certainly not any credit.” Kereon smiled. “Do you really think anyone will believe she had anything to do with finding it, except cooking for us?”

Barmonia sat back and shook his head. “No. Very well. Bring her in.”

Kereon looked at Ray. “She’ll be suspicious if anyone but you approaches her.”

Ray nodded. “I’ll find her. I can’t guarantee that I can persuade her to join us after the way you all treated her the other day, but I’ll try.” He narrowed his eyes at Barmonia. “You’ll have the hardest challenge.”

“Putting up with her,” Yathyir said, nodding.

“No,” Ray replied. “Remembering what manners are.”

As the others grimaced or rolled their eyes, Ray considered how he was going to persuade Emmea to cooperate. He had no illusions that the others would even attempt to be civil. If the woman was going to spend any length of time helping them, she’d need a friend who sympathized with her.

Or more than a friend, he thought. I’m sure she was flirting with me the other day, though probably only in order to gain my help. She’s not young, but she’s still attractive despite her age. Besides, they say older women can be very “educational...”

The news had come like a chill wind, whipping its way through corridors and halls to every corner of the Sanctuary. Servants and domestics alike had been in a fervor of excitement and terror since.

Auraya is here! they whispered. Nekaun has brought an ex-White into the Sanctuary! The one that can fly! The one that killed Kuar!

Kikarn had told Reivan in the morning, between a trader protesting against the limitation to his imports and a cousin of the new Dekkan High Chieftain delivering a generous donation from his family. Reivan had thought of Imenja first. Her mistress had respected the former First Voice and had grieved his death. What would she think of Kuar’s killer walking freely in the Sanctuary?

Reivan half expected to be summoned, but no mental call came through the pendant until the evening. As she continued to work, she found herself wondering if she might encounter Auraya on her way to meet Imenja. The idea didn’t appeal to her. By the time she was free to leave she was dreading the walk up to the Upper Sanctuary. It seemed longer than usual, but all she encountered were other Servants from whom she heard tantalizing snatches of conversation.

She found Imenja in a dark mood.

“So you’ve heard about our special guest,” her mistress said as soon as she saw Reivan, rising to look out of the window at the lights of the city. “I suppose the news has spread through the city by now. Nekaun has decided to play host to the enemy.”

“She’s not one of the White any more,” Reivan reminded her.

“No. But still a Circlian priestess.”

Moving to the other side of the window, Reivan watched Imenja’s face closely. “Does Nekaun hope to change that?”

Imenja scowled. “I can see no other reason.”

Reivan frowned. “How did he persuade her to... ah, the Siyee.”

“Yes. He has promised to release one every day she remains here.”

“Nothing more?”

“I suppose he could have threatened to torture or kill them,” Imenja muttered. “But even he has enough sense to realize that would hardly persuade her to join us.”

“I meant: was staying here all he asked from her?”

Imenja’s lips pressed into a thin smile. “Yes. I doubt she would have agreed to join us in exchange for their release. No, he’ll have to woo her, and she knows it. His greatest challenge. A seduction worthy of...” She paused and grimaced apologetically. “I’m sorry. Those words were badly chosen.”

Looking away, Reivan tried to push aside the tight, uncomfortable feeling that had gripped her. She had hoped Nekaun would visit her last night, now that he had returned, but her bed had remained empty.

It’s only one night, she told herself.

He was busy planning his seduction of Auraya, a dark voice in the back of her mind added.

“Tonight there will be a great feast for her. We’re not invited. He doesn’t want to surround her with powerful sorcerers in case she feels threatened.”

“I suppose you’ll get to meet her eventually.”

Imenja nodded, then her eyes sharpened. She pointed out of the window. “There she is now.”

Reivan turned and looked in the direction Imenja had indicated. A movement in a courtyard a few levels down caught her eye. Two people walked across the pavement and stopped in a pool of light cast by a lamp: one male in black robes, one female in the white clothes of a Circlian priestess. Underneath the strange overgarment, she was wearing a short tunic.

And trousers, Reivan noted. How strange.

The pair moved to the fountain. It was the one Imi, the Elai princess, had recovered in during her stay. As Auraya turned to look up at the statue Reivan had a good view of her face. She felt her heart sink.

Even from here she is beautiful and exotic. She reluctantly made herself read the messages in Nekaun’s stance. It brought the word “seduction” back to her mind. His appearance of intense interest in Auraya might simply be an act for the White’s benefit, but it was a convincing one.

Too convincing?

She shook her head and turned her mind to more practical matters.

“What will happen if he succeeds in his seduction? Will we go to war again?”

Imenja made a low noise. “I hope not.”

“It is possible,” Reivan said to herself. “Or he might simply be removing an advantage the White have over us.”

“And gaining it for ourselves.” Imenja looked thoughtful.

“Just in case the White have ideas about invading.” She paused and looked at Imenja. “Do they?”

“I’d have thought not, if not for the Siyee attacking Klaff. It would make sense to kill off the birds if they were planning to wage war against us.” Imenja crossed her arms. “The Siyee believe their action was retribution.”

“For what?”

“A failed plot. Not mine.”

Reivan smiled at the wary tone in Imenja’s voice. Obviously this plot was yet another one her mistress could not discuss. She looked down at the courtyard again. Auraya gestured toward the pool. Suddenly something jumped out of the woman’s bag and onto the pool edge.

It was an animal of some sort, small and lithe. After drinking from the pool, it scampered around the fountain then, at a gesture from Auraya, slunk reluctantly back into her bag.

Reivan found herself thinking of something a Servant in the monastery she had grown up in had told her once. “You can tell a lot about a person from how they treat animals, and how animals treat them.”

Auraya and Nekaun moved out of sight. Reivan sighed. If Nekaun did manage to “seduce” Auraya would she stay here in Glymma? If so, she would not be embraced by most Pentadrians. She had, after all, struck the blow that had killed Kuar and won the war for the Circlians. She would have no friends here.

Imenja abruptly moved away from the window. “When I do meet with her, I want you with me to help translate.”

Reivan followed her mistress to the chairs.

“I’ll be there. Not sure if I’m looking forward to being in her presence, but I’m sure it will be interesting.”

Imenja’s mouth twisted into a half-smile.

“Yes, but interesting isn’t always pleasant.”

24

Emerahl approached the library door slowly, concentrating her senses on what lay beyond. She sensed only a handful of minds. Some were dark with annoyance and skepticism, others curious. One was a little more familiar than the rest, and full of anticipation.

Ray, I’m guessing.

He had pounced on her in the market, seemingly oblivious to her embarrassment at being discovered selling cures, and invited her to meet with the Thinkers again as soon as she was able. They had arranged a time for that afternoon, and she had returned to her room to deposit her cure bag and collect the fake scrolls.

Taking hold of the handle, she twisted it and felt the latch slide free. The door swung inward easily. She stepped into the library and closed the door behind her.

The librarian regarded her suspiciously over the same pile of scrolls she had seen him cataloguing last time. She ignored him and walked to the end of the room. The same five men sat in the same positions.

Almost as if I hadn’t left, she mused. Except this time they’re not ignoring me.

Ray stood up and smiled. “Greetings. Thank you for returning. Here,” he gestured to an empty chair. “Please sit down.”

She sat where he indicated and looked around at the faces.

“This is Emmea Startracker, in case you didn’t catch the name last time,” Ray said to the other men. He gestured at each man in turn, beginning with the larger. “This is Barmonia Tithemaster, our leader and expert in history and old languages. This is Mikmer Lawmaker, another historian. Kereon Cupman, finder and collector of artifacts, and Yathyir Gold, who has a flawless memory for facts.”

He then placed a hand on his chest. “I am Raynora Vorn and I’ve spent too much time studying dead gods and their followers.”

She did her best to look impressed. “With such qualifications I would be surprised if none of you could help me with this scroll.” She lifted the box.

“Well show us then,” Barmonia said, holding his hands out.

As she gave him the box her heart began to beat faster. Though The Twins had guided her in making the scroll, they hadn’t actually seen them with their own eyes. They looked convincing enough to Emerahl, but these men were experts.

Barmonia opened the box and gently lifted out the roll of parchment. He unrolled it slightly and a fine dust wafted off. His eyebrows rose, then his eyes moved back and forth as he scanned the glyphs.

Abruptly he stood up and moved to a table. There he weighed down the corners of the scroll and carefully rolled it opened further. As the other men rose and walked over to watch, Emerahl followed them.

“This means ‘priest,’ ” Barmonia said, pointing to a glyph. “And this ‘most favored’ or ‘special.’ ” He paused.

“It says ‘... the goddess ordered her favorite priest to write her words on a scroll...,’ ” Emerahl told him.

A tense silence followed, then Barmonia sighed heavily. “You can read this?”

“Yes. I don’t understand some of it. What does ‘breath offering’ mean?”

Barmonia smiled. “To offer your last breath to the goddess. Which is just another way to declare oneself a follower in the hope a god or goddess will take your soul when you die.”

Emerahl nodded. “I see. I was a bit worried it meant voluntary strangulation or something similar.”

“When it comes to history it is all too easy for the imagination of the untrained to blur the truth. Especially with young women.”

Emerahl met his eyes and held them. The man’s face began to redden. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

“We’re all very impressed, Emmea,” Ray said. “Would you read out the entire scroll for us?”

She turned her attention back to the roll of parchment, stepping closer to Barmonia. It was supposed to be a scrap of a record of the priests of the goddess Sorli, and the information was all accurate according to The Twins. When she had read it out the men were thoughtfully silent.

“Well then, what else can we get her to read?” Ray asked.

Barmonia sighed. “Bring out the bones.”

“Bones?” Emerahl asked.

Ray smiled but did not answer. She watched as Kereon and Mikmer disappeared through a door and returned carefully carrying a long, heavy box between them. They placed it on the table and Barmonia lifted the lid.

Emerahl did not have to fake her surprise. Within was a skeleton. That was not surprising. The Twins had told her the Thinkers believed that there was significance in “a lot of old bones.” But they didn’t understand what it was because the Thinkers didn’t.

They must have known why the bones were special, Emerahl mused. They just left that bit for me to discover.

The bones were covered in glyphs. As Ray picked one up and handed it to her she saw that the symbols had been carved into the surface, then painted black. She stared at them in wonder.

“Where did you find this?”

“Dug up in an old temple,” Kereon said lightly. “This man must have been very important.”

She looked down into the box, read the rest of the glyphs and nodded.

“He was. This was the last favored priest of the goddess Sorli.”

And the glyphs confirmed the Scroll’s existence and location... but she wasn’t going to tell them the latter.

“Read,” Barmonia said in a low voice.

“The glyphs on the skull say: ‘I am the favored priest of the goddess Sorli.’ On the right arm it says: ‘To me are entrusted the secrets of the gods.’ Not ‘god;’ it is the plural form. On the left it says: ‘Seek the truth in the sacred chamber when the gods are most...’ Hmm, ‘occupied’ is the closest translation.” She chuckled. “A riddle. I so love it when there’s a riddle. The legs say: ‘Sorli will direct the way. A mortal may enter and take the secrets.’ ” She paused.

A mortal may enter and take the secrets? Does that mean not an immortal? Where can a mortal go that an immortal can’t?

“Is that it?” Barmonia asked.

“No, there are glyphs on the ribs. Are they in the right order?”

The men exchanged looks of dismay. None were experts on anatomy, she knew.

“What do they say? Maybe we can work out their order.”

She gave them enough words to describe the place named on the ribs, but not the directions. “If arranged like this,” she changed the positions of a few ribs, “it says ‘heart speaks more.’ I’m guessing that means there are further instructions in this ‘sacred chamber.’ ”

Barmonia scowled, but she sensed that he was pleased.

“Then we’ll just have to take you there,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes at him and pretended dismay and suspicion.

“Take me where?”

“The famous city of Sorlina.”

The platten driver and his assistant scurried about erecting the tents and setting a fire. The Dunwayans were as comfortable outdoors as in their fortresses and even the most powerful and rich clan leaders were happy to sleep in the open during long journeys. Camping areas were maintained along every road. If there was no river there was always a well. Fireplaces of various sizes could be found and piles of firewood, and in some places constructions had been built designed for exercise and the practice of fighting skills.

Another benefit of camping was that a traveller’s identity was less likely to be noted than if he or she stayed at a fortress. Ella had found spies in the few forts they had visited in order to buy food. Though these spies hadn’t identified her, they had heard of her arrival and departure from Chon and had been told to watch for her in case she had not returned to Jarime, as I-Portak claimed.

Danjin and Ella were sitting on wooden boxes near the fire, blankets folded several times as cushions. Gillen was still inside the platten; he had been asleep when they’d arrived and Ella had decided not to wake him. Yem was gathering together some of the cooking implements and supplies.

Cooking was one of the warrior’s many unexpected talents, and he said the easiest dish to make while camping was called “coopa”: various ingredients cooked in spices and water to which dry bread was added to help form a sauce. The previous night he had disappeared into a forest and returned with a large bird, an arrow protruding from its chest. He’d kept the feathers and stowed them away in the platten somewhere.

Now he was carrying a large pot, some root vegetables and a package to the newly made fire. Danjin watched as the warrior chopped ingredients and added them to the pot. From time to time he rose to collect water or leaves from plants in the camp site. The smell of the bubbling concoction became more and more appetizing. Then Yem unwrapped the parcel.

At first Danjin caught his breath in horror. In the dark the contents looked like swollen fingers. But as Yem began to slice them Danjin realized they could not be. They were some kind of stuffed tube. Yem glanced up at Danjin and smiled.

“They’re made of shem intestines,” Yem explained. “Washed out and stuffed with meat and spices. These are made with a very rare spice. The one the spy in Chon sells.”

Danjin nodded and watched doubtfully as the warrior deposited the sliced tubes into the pot. The mixture was bubbling gently. A rich aroma wafted out and set Danjin’s stomach growling.

“How long have we been here?” a muffled voice asked. All turned to see Gillen emerging from the platten. He looked at the tents, now fully erected, and his eyebrows rose. “That long? You should have woken me.”

“You obviously needed the sleep,” Ella told him.

The man grimaced. “Yes. Don’t tell any Dunwayans or I’ll never be able to negotiate a deal again, but I’ve never taken a liking to sleeping on the hard ground,” he said quietly in Hanian. He walked over to the fire and drew in a deep breath. “I see we’re in for a treat tonight,” he said in Dunwayan. “Or rather, an extra-special leg of the superb culinary journey we are undertaking.”

Yem looked up and grinned. “It would be a shame if our visitors left Dunway having only experienced sleeping on hard ground and chasing after vagrant servants.”

Gillen blushed. Danjin chuckled as the ambassador sat down and sighed. “My secret’s out. I’m unworthy,” he mourned. Yem smiled and said nothing as he stirred the pot.

Looking at Ella, Danjin noted the distant focus of her gaze. Her forehead was creased and her lips pressed into a thin line. Whatever - whoever - she was listening to was causing her both concern and anger.

The servant they were following was half a day’s journey to their east, nearing the southwestern coast of Dunway. He had no idea if he was close to his destination and those that had helped him along the way were no better informed. If he reached the coast he would have to turn east or west. Or leave Dunway. Ella was less concerned about the latter than the possibility there was a Pentadrian base in Dunway.

They were all used to her silences now. Danjin turned his attention back to the other two men, and they talked of places they’d seen and their experiences in the war. At some point Yem decided his “coopa” was ready and scooped some into bowls for them. Even the servants received some, despite the expensive meat tubes it contained.

The spice from the meat had flavored the whole dish, giving it a heat that set Danjin’s mouth burning pleasantly. The meat itself was a little too spicy for his taste, however. And very salty.

After they had eaten, they drank a little fwa and talked some more. Ella roused herself and joined in. Eventually the yawns of Gillen prompted her to suggest they retire to bed.

Danjin rose to follow, but Ella placed a hand on his arm.

“Stay a while. I need to talk to you.”

He sat down again.

She smiled and looked up at the sky. “Look at the stars. Are they brighter here than in Jarime?”

“I was told once that all the lamps and lights of Jarime make them seem dimmer.”

“I have never slept out of doors before this journey. It is pleasant, though I can imagine it wouldn’t be if it were raining or cold.”

“No,” he agreed, thinking back to a few uncomfortable nights in his youth, and during the trek to the battle with the Pentadrians.

“The Siyee live in tents all the time, don’t they?”

Danjin nodded. “Larger and more resilient than these, of course. They call them bowers.”

“Bowers,” she repeated, glancing toward the tents of Yem, Gillen and the servants. “Good,” she murmured. “They’re asleep.”

“That’s quick,” Danjin said quietly. “Gillen must not be feeling the hard ground as much as he claims.”

She smiled, but her expression quickly became serious again.

“I have bad news for you, Danjin. Auraya has joined the Pentadrians.”

He blinked, then stared at her in shock.

“No,” he found himself saying. “She wouldn’t have. Not willingly.”

“She has, though I do not know on what terms.”

Danjin looked away. Auraya and the Pentadrians. It wasn’t possible. She resented them as much as any Circlian did for daring to invade and causing the death of so many - especially the Siyee.

There had to be a reason...

“The gods must have asked her to,” he concluded aloud. “She would never turn against them.”

Ella smiled. “Your loyalty is your strength and your weakness, Danjin Spear. Do you have the same faith in me?”

He met her eyes and nodded. “Of course.”

“But in Auraya your trust is misplaced. She has already disobeyed the gods once.”

He looked away. “I know you’re referring to her resignation. I accept that there are details I don’t know. That you cannot risk telling me.”

“Risk? No. I did not tell you because I did not want to disappoint you,” she said gently. “I could see that you regarded her with a similar pride and affection that you feel for your daughters. Any ill doing of hers would hurt you.” She sighed and straightened. “But it is time you knew the truth. If she has truly allied herself with the Pentadrians your loyalty is a trait she can exploit.”

He felt a stab of fear, then smiled at the irony. Now that he was going to learn what Auraya had done he didn’t want to. Ella was not going to take pity on him, however.

“You know of her affair with the Dreamweaver Leiard,” she began. “What you don’t know is that he is not who he claimed to be.”

He frowned. “Who is he?”

“Mirar.”

He stared at her for a long time, expecting her to smile and admit to a joke. But she didn’t. She returned his stare with grim determination.

“But... that’s not possible,” he finally said. “Juran would have recognized him!”

She grimaced. “Somehow he suppressed his true identity to the point that neither he nor the gods were aware of it. But when he regained it the gods were able to identify him. Juran says his memory of Mirar had faded, and Leiard looked very different.”

“I doubt the gods were happy about this.”

“No. They sent Auraya to kill him.”

Danjin drew in a sharp breath and stared at her, appalled. “And she couldn’t.”

“No.”

“So they threw her out of the White.”

“No. She resigned, having rightly concluded that an inability to obey the gods is a weakness a White should not have.”

He winced. “They couldn’t expect her to kill someone she loved. Couldn’t someone else have done it?”

“He isn’t the man she loved. He is Mirar. And he was in Si. No other White could get to him as quickly as she.”

“Oh.” I bet she was cursing her flying ability that day, he thought.

“Leiard was a temporary personality behind which Mirar hid. She would not have been killing her former lover. She knew that.”

Danjin sighed. “I’m sure she did. Even so, I wouldn’t find it easy to kill the likeness of someone I loved.”

“Being a White is not meant to be easy.”

He nodded at that. She was right, but he found her ruthless judgment hard to accept. Surely she was being too hard on Auraya. But how could she feel sympathy for Auraya when she hadn’t yet faced such a dilemma herself?

Then how is it that I can sympathize with Auraya? Is Ella right? Am I too blindly loyal?

He sighed. “So she returned to Si...” He frowned as he realized what that might have meant. “Was Mirar still there?”

“No. He escaped to Southern Ithania, where the Pentadrians have welcomed him.”

The Pentadrians. And now Auraya was there. Danjin’s heart sank. “Is she now Mirar’s lover?” he asked with difficulty.

“I don’t believe so.”

“So her joining the Pentadrians has nothing to do with him?” he asked hopefully.

Ella looked away and frowned. “I don’t know. But there is something else you should know. Auraya met with a mysterious woman a few months ago. We believe she was a Wild, and taught Auraya forbidden Gifts. The ability to shield her mind from the gods... and perhaps the secret of immortality.”

“Auraya is a Wild?”

“Possibly.”

He shook his head. “So that makes her an enemy of the gods?”

Ella glanced at him and looked away again. “No.”

She didn’t elaborate, and it was curious to see her looking so uncomfortable. Perhaps only because she didn’t have the answer to this.

Danjin considered all he had learned. The gods hadn’t rejected Auraya. Ella had said Auraya was possibly a Wild. Perhaps the gods’ acceptance of her meant she wasn’t.

Or perhaps the existence of immortal sorcerers doesn’t bother them so long as those sorcerers worship them.

Ella turned to regard him again. “So, as you will see once you get over the surprise of these revelations, if the Pentadrians have a Wild’s strength to call upon they will be considerably stronger. Add to that the knowledge Auraya has of Circlian strengths and weaknesses and any thought of future conflicts is alarming.”

“Yes,” Danjin agreed.

“She knows us too well, but you know her better than anyone. I want you to consider all the ways she could use her knowledge of us against us, and how can we use our knowledge of her against her.”

He nodded. “Very well. I could do with something to occupy my mind on this journey.”

She gave him an odd look. “You are not distressed by the thought of plotting against Auraya?”

He smiled. “Another advantage of my loyalty. I don’t mind imagining her doing it because I don’t believe she will.”

Ella shook her head. “If that’s what it takes, then I won’t shatter any more of your illusions.” She rose. “Good night, Danjin Spear.”

“Good night.”

25

A soft mattress meant a bed, and a bed meant Auraya was in her room in the Tower... but that couldn’t be true.

Auraya opened her eyes and groaned as she remembered everything: the failed Siyee attack on the Pentadrian birds, her agreement with Nekaun; that she was in the Sanctuary, the enemy’s home. She was instantly awake, her mind going straight to the day ahead and what must happen soon.

I have been here nearly one night and day. If Nekaun keeps his word a Siyee will go free.

And if he doesn’t?

Then she would leave - if she could - and try to find a way to free the Siyee.

As she got out of bed she heard a small, sleepy noise of protest. Looking down, she saw Mischief blinking up at her. He stretched, the end of his tail quivering.

“Fooaaawwwd,” he said at the same time as yawning.

“I’ll see what I can arrange,” she told him.

Servants had brought her a mountain of clothing the day before. She had selected a simple shift to wear while sleeping, then cleaned and dried her circ and the trousers and sleeveless tunic she had arrived in. Changing into her priestess clothes again, she moved to the window.

It gave a splendid view of the city and the roofs and courtyards of the Sanctuary. The rooms she had been given were probably for important guests. I wonder who has stayed here before. The rooms are large, but they’re not highly adorned. There isn’t much furniture. Kings and such would probably stay somewhere bigger and fancier.

Mischief leapt up onto the sill, his ears pricked and his nose twitching.

“Stay here,” she warned. His ears dropped in disappointment, but he settled into a crouch with his tail wrapped around his body, his mind all acceptance.

A knocking came from the next room. She froze, then drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Walking away from the window, she moved to the double doors of the main room. When she opened them, Nekaun’s Companion, Turaan, bowed his head to her, as did the crowd of servants behind him.

Not servants, she reminded herself. Domestics.

“Good morning, Priestess Auraya,” Turaan said. “I bring food and water.”

She stepped aside. The domestics filed into the room, each carrying something. The man ordered them about. Several set their burdens on a table, then lifted woven covers to reveal elaborately prepared and arranged food, including fruit and bread. Two enormous pottery jugs were set on the floor, then a small crowd of men poured water from pitchers into them until they were close to overflowing.

Other domestics disappeared into the bedroom. Looking inside, she watched them tidy the bed with practiced efficiency, gather up the clothes she had slept in and those she had ignored, then file out of the room again. They did not touch her pack, and didn’t appear to notice Mischief sitting on the windowsill.

One, a young woman, turned to face Auraya, eyes downcast. She pointed to the tiled room, then at the jugs of water.

Auraya shook her head, though not without a twinge of regret. It had been a long time since she had enjoyed a hot bath, but she would not be able to relax knowing she would soon be playing guest to Nekaun.

“Priestess Auraya.”

She turned to face Turaan.

“The First Voice asked me to tell you he will be with you shortly. Please eat and be refreshed. You will accompany him to the roof to witness the release of a Siyee.”

She nodded and then watched the servants file out of the room again. Though they were quiet and reserved, their minds were full of curiosity, resentment and fear. She was the enemy. She was dangerous. Why was Nekaun treating her like a guest?

When the doors had closed behind them, she moved to the table and examined the food. Last night she had considered the possibility that Nekaun would try to poison her. She hadn’t tested her healing Gift on poison yet, but when she had considered how she would deal with such a threat she felt her confidence rising.

Taking fruit and bread, she moved to the window to eat it. A small thump drew her attention back to the table. Mischief was sniffing at one of the plates. As he began to nibble at one of the morsels she felt a stab of apprehension. What if he ate something poisonous? She could probably heal him, but what if she wasn’t there when it happened?

I’ll just have to take him with me everywhere.

She finished eating, then retrieved her pack from the bedroom. There was little inside. Just an empty water skin, some cures, a spare tunic and pair of trousers.

Emptying it, she shook sand and dust from it and set it aside. Then she sat down to wait.

Not long after, another knock came from the door. This time Nekaun stood beyond, Turaan behind him.

“Greetings, Sorceress Auraya.”

“Priestess,” she corrected.

“Priestess Auraya. It is time I honored my side of our bargain,” Nekaun said, smiling.

“Just a moment.” Picking up the pack, she called to Mischief. The veez bounded over to her and leapt up into her arms. Used to this routine, he dived straight into the pack. She hitched it over her shoulder and turned to face Nekaun.

“I’m ready.”

He nodded, then ushered her out into the corridor.

“What do you call that creature?”

“It is a veez,” she told him. “From Somrey.”

“A pet?”

“Yes.”

“It speaks.”

“They learn the words they need to express their wants or concerns, such as food, warmth and danger - which doesn’t make them stimulating conversationalists.”

He chuckled. “I suppose it wouldn’t. Did you sleep well?”

“No.”

“Did the heat bother you?”

“Partly.”

“You did choose the hottest part of the year to visit us,” he reminded her.

She decided not to respond to that. He led her up a flight of stairs.

“Was the food to your liking?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Anything you would like to request?”

She felt Mischief stir inside the pack. He was uncomfortably warm inside, and a little stifled.

“Raw meat for Mischief,” she replied. “And that all food be removed from my room when I leave it. I do not want him eating anything unsuitable.”

He’ll like the meat, she thought. And if he is poisoned I will know the attack was directed at him in order to harm me, rather than him taking food meant for me.

“That will be arranged,” Nekaun told her. “Here we are.”

He led her up a narrow staircase through a hole in the ceiling. They emerged into bright sunlight, on the roof of a building. She had seen seats and potted trees on many of the Sanctuary rooftops, indicating that they were treated much like courtyards.

Four Servants stood near another hole in the roof. They looked at Nekaun expectantly. He spoke a word and they turned to look down into the hole.

Auraya’s heart twisted as a Siyee climbed up onto the roof. He winced, then blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the light. Rope bound his wrists together, which must have been uncomfortable as it pinched in the membrane of his wings. His head moved from side to side as he took in the rooftop he was standing on. When he saw Auraya beside Nekaun and Turaan he stilled.

I’m the first, he thought joyfully. Then he felt a wave of guilt. The others... I don’t want to leave them behind... but I must. If I don’t, it might end this deal Auraya has made.

A Servant cut his bonds and another held out a water skin and a parcel of food. The Siyee examined them suspiciously, then tucked them away in his vest.

He looked at her, his mind full of gratitude. She nodded to him.

Just go, she thought at him.

As the Servants stepped away the Siyee turned his back on them and broke into a run, leaping off the building and gliding away.

Auraya slowly let out the breath she had been holding. The winged figure arced away from the Sanctuary, circling the hill and heading south. She watched him until she could no longer see him.

Then Nekaun turned to her and smiled.

“Now you must keep your side of the bargain, Sorceress Auraya, and I have much to show you.”

Rain and heat assailed Kave in successive waves each day, so the air became thick with humidity. Washed clothes refused to dry and dry clothes were wet with perspiration as soon as they were worn. The stink of the refuse below the city rose to cover all in a layer of foulness. Biting insects swarmed in clouds, forcing the city’s inhabitants to stay indoors, so Mirar and Tintel saw few people as they walked toward the river.

Tintel wiped her brow with a wet cloth and sighed.

“I so love this time of year,” she said dryly.

“How long does this last?” he asked.

“Up to four weeks. Once it went for six. Anyone who can afford to leaves Kave for the summer. Even if they can bear the heat, there is the summer fever to avoid.”

Mirar thought of the increasing number of sick people coming to the hospice. The other Dreamweavers had explained that this was a yearly occurrence, and soon the whole House would be filled with beds occupied by the sick. The fever was rarely fatal, however.

Ahead the houses ended abruptly a few hundred paces from the river’s edge. Narrow wooden staircases descended to the muddy ground below, where a temporary road of planks led away to the water’s edge.

Mirar and Tintel stopped. They could see a barge tied up to pylons, surrounded by Servants. Men dressed only in short trousers were carrying boxes and chests on board, their backs slick with sweat.

“I have a parting gift for you,” Tintel said.

Mirar turned to regard her.

“You don’t have to—”

“Wait and see,” she told him sternly. “You will need this gift.”

Opening the bag hanging from her shoulder, she lifted out a clay jug with a narrow neck. The top was sealed with a lump of wax from which a string protruded. Grabbing the string, she pulled the wax plug free.

“Hold out your hands.”

Mirar did as she asked. She tipped the bottle and a yellowish oil filled the hollow of one palm. It smelled pleasantly herbal and zesty.

“Rub this into all exposed skin,” Tintel instructed, tipping oil into her own hand. “It helps keep the bugs and summer fever at bay.”

“So the bugs bring the sickness?” he asked as he rubbed the oil over his hands then onto his face.

“Maybe.” Tintel shrugged. “Maybe it’s just a convenient side effect of the oil. It does help to cool the fever.”

“It is surprisingly refreshing. Makes the heat a little more bearable.”

She stoppered the bottle and replaced it, then drew out a small wooden box. Opening it, she showed him that it was full of candles.

“They’re scented with the same extracts. Use them sparingly and they should last you the journey to the escarpment. We sell both oil and candles each summer, for the cost of making them. We are the only ones who make it, even though we give the recipe away to anyone who wants it.”

“So anyone seeking a profit can’t compete with you. Do you ever have a shortfall of oil and candles?”

“Yes.” She frowned. “Would you have us make a profit on a cure?”

“If people are harmed by a lack of oil, then yes. The profits can go toward the House or the sick.”

“You have no idea what a relief it is to hear you say that.” She closed the box and returned it to the bag, then handed the bag to him.

He smiled. “Are you testing me, Tintel?”

She chuckled. “I might be. Intention and meaning can change over many years. Some Dreamweavers believe you forbade the selling of cures.”

“It’s not adv—”

“Dreamweaver Mirar?”

The voice was full of confidence and power. He turned to face the owner, who was climbing the last few stairs up to the platform.

“Fourth Voice Genza,” he replied. He gestured to Tintel. “This is Dreamweaver Tintel, who runs the Kave Dreamweaver House.”

Genza nodded at Tintel. “I must apologize for taking your founder and guide from you. I know at this time of year his knowledge and powers would be of great benefit to the city.”

Tintel shrugged. “We have been dealing with the fever every year for centuries. I’m sure we will cope well enough without him.”

Genza’s eyes brightened with amusement. “Indeed, you have. Kave owes you a great debt.” She turned her attention to Mirar. “We are almost ready to leave.”

He nodded and turned to Tintel. “Thank you for putting up with me. I hope the summer heat ends early in Kave.”

Tintel nodded. “I hope all goes well in Glymma. I expect you’ll continue to explore Southern Ithania afterward. I look forward to seeing you in Kave again, though perhaps in a better season.”

“I would like to see it in full flood,” he told her.

“Perhaps next time.” She made the old Dreamweaver gesture - a touch to the heart, mouth and forehead. “Goodbye.”

Surprised, he returned the gesture, then turned to Genza and she, taking that to indicate he was ready, led him toward the stairs.

As he followed her down to the plank road, then along it toward the barge, he thought of the news The Twins had delivered in a dream-link last night.

:Auraya is in Glymma, they’d told him. As they’d described the Siyee mission and its failure Mirar had been stunned that the White would do something so foolish. He was not surprised that the attack had failed, though it was worrying that the Pentadrians had been forewarned. Was there a spy in the Siyee ranks? There couldn’t be one among the White’s most trusted, or they would have read the deceit from the spy’s mind.

He hadn’t been surprised to learn that Auraya had accepted Nekaun’s offer, agreeing to stay in Glymma in exchange for the release of the Siyee. I wonder how the White regard her striking a deal with the enemy. Or rather, allowing herself to be blackmailed into staying there in exchange for the Siyee’s freedom.

There were twenty-eight Siyee prisoners remaining. One would have been released today. From Tintel’s description of the river journey to the escarpment, more than three quarters of the Siyee would be free before he’d travelled a third of the way to Glymma. At this time of year, the river moved so sluggishly that barges must be poled or rowed up and down.

So Tamun and Surim have nothing to worry about. The Twins had been concerned that Nekaun planned to use Auraya against Mirar, or vice versa.

:Everyone thinks you and Auraya are deadly enemies. Some believe that Nekaun will offer to kill you in exchange for Auraya’s support. Or that he’ll offer to kill Auraya in order to gain your support.

:Auraya won’t ally herself with the White’s enemy, Mirar had replied, though he wasn’t completely sure that was true. She had sacrificed a great deal to save the Siyee before.

:Good thing they don’t know how you two really regarded each other, eh? Surim had said. They’d just have to decide which to imprison and which to blackmail.

:Blackmail wouldn’t work on her, Mirar reminded them.

:Ah, but it would definitely work on you.

Surim was right, but Mirar had reassured himself with two facts: he was never going to get to Glymma in time, and it took a lot of magic to imprison someone as powerful as Auraya. It would occupy one or more of the Voices night and day, in shifts. It would make them less able to defend themselves should the White attack.

He and Genza had reached the barge. She ushered him on board and showed him the cabin that had been prepared for him. It was tiny, but clean.

Ropes were untied from pylons and crew used poles to push the craft out into the river. Shallow-hulled, the barge rocked ponderously in the water. Genza moved to the prow then turned and said something to the crew, who withdrew their poles.

Then Mirar took an involuntary step backward as the barge began to plow through the river, churning up waves on either side. He felt his stomach sink at the same time as his heart lightened.

Looks like there is a good chance I will make it to Glymma in time to see Auraya.

26

Auraya had walked down corridors tiled in intricate patterns, entered rooms carpeted in rich colors and strolled through courtyards cooled by elegant fountains and exotic plants. She had been served meals of artfully prepared food from pottery and glassware of the highest quality with utensils fashioned of gold. She had heard strange and beautiful music and admired sculptures and artwork, the most amusing being a map of all Ithania made of tiny glass tiles in which the Elai were depicted as golden-haired maidens with fish tails and the Siyee as humans with feathered wings sprouting from their backs.

Nekaun was doing his best to impress her.

Though she couldn’t be sure it was his true purpose, he was making it no secret that he intended to win her over. The possibility that he might believe she would turn from the Circlian gods and ally herself with the Pentadrians had been so ridiculous that she had discounted it at first. But she soon realized he had to consider the possibility that she might have left the White, perhaps even turned from her gods, due to a conflict. She might change sides if she wanted revenge, a return of power, or simply found the ideology of Pentadrians suited her better.

He would give up if she appeared incorruptible. Yet the sooner he felt he had won her over, the sooner he would stop trying. There were twenty-seven Siyee still imprisoned in the caves beneath the Sanctuary so she had to keep this game going for twenty-eight more days.

I have to seem impressed, but not too interested. Resistant, but not unpersuadable, she told herself. I should pretend to have the occasional moment of weakness in order to keep him hoping he can win me over.

Nekaun was leading her down a wide corridor that apparently connected the Lower Sanctuary with the Upper Sanctuary.

“Is it true that the White live in rooms as plain and small as those their priests occupy?” he asked, his ever-present Companion, Turaan, repeating the words in Hanian.

“Plain, yes,” she replied. “Small, no.”

It took constant concentration to ensure she didn’t reveal her mind-reading ability. The sooner she learned some of the local language the better. Someone had advised her of that. She heard a familiar voice in her memory.

“You never know when a bit of the local tongue might work to your advantage. Perhaps even save your life.”

Danjin had said that. She felt a pang of sadness. It had been so long since she’d seen him. She missed his sturdy presence.

“You lived in the White Tower, didn’t you?” Nekaun asked.

“Yes.”

“Do all priests in the Temple live in the Tower?”

She looked at him skeptically. “I only agreed to stay here, not to give you information about your enemy.”

His smile widened. “Forgive me. I did not intend to take advantage of you. I am merely interested. Here,” he gestured to a narrow opening in a wall. “Here is a place very precious to us. The Star Room.”

From Turaan came a sudden nervous excitement, and she read from him that this was the Pentadrians’ primary worshipping place. An altar of some kind. As Nekaun stepped through the gap Auraya hesitated. How dangerous could the altar of the enemy gods be? Could they do anything to her there that they couldn’t outside of it?

Nekaun promised on those gods that I would remain unharmed, she reminded herself. And I agreed to stay and be shown around. If either of us is going to break our word, I won’t be the first.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the gap into a large room. Black walls, floor and ceiling surrounded her. The walls were at strange angles. She realized there were five of them; the room was a pentagon. Nekaun was standing at the center, between lines of silver set into the floor. A chill ran down her spine as she realized they formed a giant star.

She looked up at Nekaun.

“Am I to be introduced to your gods now?” she asked, pleased to hear that her voice was calm.

His smile, usually so charming, was wry.

“No. The gods choose when they appear, not I. They don’t often speak to us, and rarely instruct us. We appreciate the freedom to govern ourselves and they trust us to do it well.”

“If they never appear, then some of your people must come to the conclusion they do not exist.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t say they never appear. You do not believe they are real, do you?”

“I know at least one is,” she told him, “as I saw him during the war.”

He blinked in surprise. “You saw one of our gods?”

“Sheyr, I believe.”

“He only appeared the once.” He narrowed his eyes. “You were there?”

“Yes. When your people emerged from the mines. That is how we knew to return from the pass and meet you.”

He shook his head. “What were you doing there?”

Moping over Leiard, she thought wryly. Can’t tell him that... “Exploring,” she told him. “I was about to leave, but Chaia stopped me.” She smiled. “Sometimes it is better when a god is willing to visit and instruct his followers.”

His eyebrows rose, giving him a thoughtful expression.

“Do you believe my gods are real?” she asked.

His shoulders lifted. “I have not seen them, but I believe it is likely.”

“Are your gods survivors of the War of the Gods?”

“I don’t know,” he replied frankly. “They have never said they aren’t.”

She shook her head. “Either your gods are new, or my gods were not aware your gods had evaded them.”

He pursed his lips and considered her. “Are you ever disturbed by the knowledge that your gods claim to have murdered so many other gods, and are proud of it?”

She frowned. “No. The old gods were cruel and used mortals badly.”

“And your gods did not?”

Abruptly, Auraya thought of Emerahl’s story of Chaia’s seduction of women, and of the tales of deformities during the years of transformation by Huan that the Siyee told to each new generation.

“You hesitate,” he pointed out quietly.

I believe I’ve just given him one of those moments of weakness I was planning, she mused. Except it wasn’t planned and I wasn’t pretending.

“They may not be without fault,” she conceded. “But beings as old as they, are likely to have made bad decisions from time to time. From what I have been taught, the dead gods were guilty of far worse. What matters more than past errors is that the Circle has brought peace, order and prosperity to Northern Ithania since they united. In the last hundred years seven countries have become allies, and no wars had been fought - until your people invaded.”

His expression was unreadable now. Stepping out of the star shape, he walked over to face her, then gestured to the opening. “Shall we move on? I would like to show you the Lower Sanctuary, where we meet and deal with the public. If you are committed to peace, order and prosperity I think you will find it interesting.”

She smiled and graciously let him usher her from the room.

The sky was streaked with clouds of bright orange deepening into pink, but a wall of darkness hid the source of the fading light. The escarpment looming over the dry land shortened the days by blocking out the sun in the afternoon.

I wouldn’t like to live here, Emerahl thought. There’s something ominous about that cliff. I feel like it is going to tumble onto us at any moment.

The speed at which the Thinkers had managed to bring together a caravan of platten to take them all to Sorlina was impressive. Two days after her reading of the bones, Emerahl paid her board and transferred her belongings to one of several covered platten heading out of the city. Barmonia told her that he was leading the expedition, as he had travelled to the ruined city so many times that he had lost count. She might have taken the jovial way he spoke to her now as an indication that he was warming to her, if she hadn’t been able to sense his disdain whenever she was around.

Let him play at being friendly, she thought. The journey will be less pleasant otherwise. I can’t exactly tell him I know he and his colleagues are planning to dump me on a ship once they’ve found the Scroll.

A faint vibration ran through the ground, strong enough to set the tent ropes swinging. Emerahl looked up at the men sitting around the camp. Most had paused and wore alert, wary expressions, but these quickly disappeared as the vibration faded away.

“Tremor,” Yathyir murmured to himself before helping himself to another bowl of the overly spicy grain dish the servants had cooked up for them.

Ray looked up at Emerahl and smiled. “Happens all the time,” he told her. “The great Thinker Marmel believed that the escarpment is a sheet of the world sliding over another sheet - the one we’re sitting on. Sometimes the earth shakes so hard you can’t stand up. Sometimes it brings down houses.”

Emerahl looked up at the escarpment and frowned.

“I’m surprised that Hannaya still stands.”

“Oh, bits of it collapse from time to time, but it is strong enough to withstand most tremors. Carved out of solid rock by sorcerers, they say.”

“How far does the escarpment go?”

“All the way to the southwest coast. In some places it is higher, some lower. We’re going to one of the few gaps, where it has split.” He held his hands out, palms down, and mimicked the sliding top sheet of land breaking apart and the two sides moving away from each other. “The land between is a long, steep slope. It was one of the few inland crossings from Avven to Mur for thousands of years, so the people who controlled and tolled the transfer of goods from one land to another became wealthy. Then the War of the Gods happened and within a year power shifted from followers of dead gods to followers of the Five.”

“A year? How do you know that?”

“If you look at stories from the time you can piece together a certain order. Of course, some claimed their gods were alive when they weren’t. Others claimed gods of their enemies were dead when they were still alive. But most were killed over a short space of time.”

Emerahl shook her head in wonder. She had never known how or when the deaths had occurred. The consequences had come slowly. “It must have taken mortals some time to grasp what had happened.”

“Some never did. It is hard to prove the death of invisible beings. There are no corpses. No witnesses. Just silence.”

“Yet their loss affected the world dramatically.”

“Yes. Priests lost their powers. Gods no longer advised or controlled their followers. Some people took advantage of their enemy’s weakness and uncertainty. But not for long. The Five united to bring order to chaos.”

“So the Pentadrian gods existed before the war?”

“I believe so. Sheyr was the God of Prosperity, Hrun the Goddess of Love, Alor the God of Warriors, Ranah the Goddess of Fire and Sraal the God of Wealth. They are still worshipped as such in some places.”

Emerahl considered the list of names and titles. The Circlian gods had once claimed their own titles. Chaia had been the God of Kings and Huan the Goddess of Fertility.

Fertility and Love. Not such a big difference. Both sides have their war god, too. I guess they are matters people are most likely to pray about. Give me a lover, protect my lover, give me children, make me wealthy, don’t let me die...

As for the rest of the gods, the Pentadrians appeared to have the advantage, Emerahl mused. A God of Wealth had to be more useful than Saru, the former God of Gambling - or even a God of Kings. But the southern continent could do with a Goddess of Women, if the dislike for her gender was as strong in the general population as it was with these Thinkers.

Barmonia stood up and yawned loudly.

“We start early tomorrow,” he warned. “So don’t stay up too late.”

As he stalked off toward the tents the other men got to their feet like obedient but reluctant children. Emerahl found Ray smiling at her.

“Would you let me have the honor of escorting you to your tent?” he asked.

She laughed quietly. “It is I who would be honored,” she replied with equal mock formality.

Kereon glanced back at them and rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Yathyir stared, his suspicions about Ray’s motives painfully clear from the avid gleam in his eyes and the adolescent jealousy she sensed.

From Raynora she discerned expectation. She wasn’t surprised. Men were opportunistic and often assumed women living anything other than the life of a dutiful wife must be doing so in order to have their pick of lovers.

Not that Emerahl wasn’t.

The tent was not far away, but getting to it required stepping over several ropes. Ray hovered close, ready to help if she tripped, and she sensed disappointment from him when she arrived without mishap. She turned to face him.

“You’re very beautiful,” he said softly.

She nearly laughed out loud. He was gazing at her as if in awe, but she could sense he was mainly feeling desire.

Still, he was charming and good-looking. There might be advantages in taking him to bed. He was also the first man who had shown an interest since Mirar...

... and that hadn’t come to anything.

She felt a pang of guilt at that thought. It was unfair. Leiard had been controlling him.

Then suddenly she remembered Leiard in the cave in Si, staring at her out of Mirar’s eyes.

“... joining the brothel was necessity... but I also wonder if you unknowingly seek the same kind of assurance that Mirar seeks. You seek a reminder that you are a physical being, not a god...”

She took a step away from Ray. The thought of bedding him no longer appealed. The other Thinkers might take it as proof that their prejudices about foreign women were correct - not that they’d suddenly respect her for remaining chaste.

“Good night Ray,” she said. “I’m tired. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She backed into the tent and closed the flaps firmly. He was all surprise and disappointment, then amusement and determination. After a moment she heard him walk away and breathed a sigh of relief. She drew magic and put a barrier across the entrance.

I’ll have to turn him down a few times before he gives up, she told herself. She regarded the narrow bench covered in a thin mattress that served as a bed and shrugged. Well, it’s better than the bottom of a boat, and I don’t want to fall asleep too quickly anyway.

Lying down, she closed her eyes and let herself relax. Slowly her thoughts began to drift. Soon she had completely lost track of time.

:Emerahl.

The Twins’ dual voices were like an echoing whisper in her thoughts.

:Surim. Tamun.

:You were wise to reject your admirer, Tamun told her.

:Oh? Why?

:Surim would have found it much too interesting.

Emerahl felt a surge of relief. She hadn’t considered that The Twins might end up watching her bedroom antics through the eyes of Raynora. The thought was disturbing.

:You wouldn’t have watched me, would you, Surim?

:I’d have to, in case something happened to you. It would be entirely for your own protection.

:I see. And if something did happen, what could you do to protect me?

He didn’t reply.

:We’ve discovered the true source of the money being offered to Raynora for the Scrolls, Tamun said. It is coming from the Voices. They or their gods must have known the Thinkers are seeking the Scrolls, and don’t like it.

:Which supports our suspicion that the Scrolls contain something dangerous to the gods, Surim added.

:Could I bribe Ray to give them to me? Emerahl asked.

:No. You risk revealing your knowledge of his mission. His gods may be watching.

:If they are, they will be suspicious of me already since they can’t read my mind.

:True. They probably tolerate your involvement only because your help enables Ray to steal the Scrolls sooner.

:How can I stop him?

:Easy. Steal them yourself.

:Steal the Scrolls from the Thinkers, the smartest people in Southern Ithania, while their gods watch? Emerahl felt a rush of amusement. Now that is going to be satisfying.

27

As Ton reached the crest of the hill, panting and sweating, he paused to catch his breath. Looking up, he forgot his weariness and stared ahead in awe. The land before him undulated in gentle hills, then descended to an abrupt stop where a flat expanse, glowing with the light of a low-hanging sun, stretched to meet the sky.

The sea, he thought. So that’s what it looks like.

The water glittered like expensive cloth or a great rippling sheet of gold. He suddenly understood that the strange tang in the air was salt.

I must be getting close to the haven... unless it’s over the sea. He scanned the hills before him, his whole body trembling with anticipation and exhaustion. He felt as if he had been walking forever. The life he’d left behind seemed like a dream. A bad dream.

Near the coast were the tiny shapes of many, many houses. A fine thread wound past them: a river. He could make out smoke ascending in the dusky air. Was this the haven Chemalya had told him of?

Only one way to find out. He pushed himself on. At least it’s all downhill from here.

As the hours passed he kept his mind occupied with thoughts of his wife Gli and their two boys. They would love it here. His boys had never seen the sea. He must learn how to sail and take them out. Perhaps they would become fishermen. Or farmers. It would be hard work, but better than being treated like a slave. Not that Ton had suffered as much as Gli had in her youth. They both hated Gim and his clan. All that talk of honor and pride. He’d never met a warrior who had a decent thought in his head. The sooner Ton got his family away from there the better.

His mood turned gloomier as night descended. He rested beside the road until the moon rose and gave him some light to travel by, then he pressed on. Just when he began to wonder if the road had missed the village he saw lights in the distance. His stomach fluttered with excitement, stirring the hunger that had nagged at him for days.

But as he reached the first house a powerful reluctance to draw attention to himself or disturb the villagers came over him. He slowed and plodded quietly on. The houses were widely spaced at first, but soon they occurred more often until they sat side by side. A man emerged from a door ahead. As he drew closer to Ton he frowned and stared in an unfriendly fashion. But then a smile sprang to his face.

“Newcomer, eh? They’ll be waiting for you. Big drinking house a few doors down on the right.”

Ton mumbled thanks and hurried on. He could not have missed the drinking house. Light and many voices spilled from the windows and door. A tall lanky man sitting on a bench outside smiled as he saw Ton, and stood up.

“I’m Warwel. Who would you be?” he asked.

“Ton.”

“Ah. Welcome to Dram. Come inside. You must be tired. And hungry.”

“Very,” Ton admitted.

The man placed a hand on Ton’s shoulder and steered him through the door. It took a few moments for Ton’s eyes to adjust to the bright lamplight, but he heard the pause in conversation. Looking around, he saw that the room was full of men and women. Some regarded him with welcoming smiles, others with curiosity, and a few with guarded expressions.

“This is Ton,” Warwel announced loudly. “A newcomer from...?” He looked at Ton.

“Chon,” Ton said quietly.

“From Chon,” Warwel boomed. “Ton from Chon. He’s come a long way.”

Murmurs of welcome filled the room. Warwel gestured to a woman. “Kit, would you bring him something to eat?” Ton felt his heart lift at the polite request, and the dignified clothing of the woman. She must be a servant or Warwel wouldn’t ask her to fetch anything, yet he hadn’t treated her like a slave.

Maybe it’s true what the spice seller said. Of course it’s true. I wouldn’t have left my family and come this far if I hadn’t believed him.

Still, it was such a relief to know he hadn’t been deceived.

Warwel guided Ton to a bench before a large table occupied by several other people. They were drinking, but none looked drunk.

“Chem told me about you,” Warwel said.

Ton blinked at him in confusion. “He did? I thought he didn’t know where you were?”

Warwel tapped his forehead. “We talk with our minds. I don’t have to tell him where I am.”

“Oh.” Magic. Ton looked around at the people. They looked a lot like Chem. Or rather, Chem looked like them.

As the truth dawned on him, a huge bowl of soup was placed in front of him and a plate of bread.

They’re all Pentadrians, he thought. He looked down at the soup and his stomach growled. The enemy. There was a utensil of some sort in the bowl. He lifted it. If I join them I’ll be a traitor to my country. It was a small ladle, and there was a piece of meat in it. He stared at it in disbelief. Meat! But the warriors will kill me and my family if they find out. The meat sank out of sight as he let go of the ladle. He looked up at Warwel.

“My family...” he began, then sought the words to explain.

“We’ll make every effort to bring them here,” Warwel assured him. “Though I must be honest: it will be more difficult now that the clans are looking for spies.”

Ton nodded. “Is Chem...?”

“Alive? Yes, he appears to have escaped notice for now.”

Then there was a chance. Ton picked up the ladle and brought it to his mouth. The soup was hot and spicy. It smelled of Chem’s shop. The meat was tender and as delicious as he had always suspected it would be. Why else did the warriors hoard it to themselves? He ate steadily until both bread and soup were gone, then he turned to Warwel.

“So how do I convert?”

The man blinked in surprise, then laughed.

“You don’t have to, Ton. But if you want to we’ll teach you about the Five.” He hesitated. “You would so easily turn from the Circle?”

Ton shrugged. “What has Lore ever done for me or my family? He only cares about warriors.”

“And the other gods?”

“Never did me any good either.” Ton yawned. Exhaustion, the warmth in the room and the food were making him sleepy. Gli had always accused him of making hasty decisions when he was tired. He frowned. “I suppose I should wait until Gli gets here, but in the meantime it can’t hurt to learn about your gods.”

Warwel smiled broadly. “Then we’ll teach you. But for now I think what you need the most is a good night’s sleep. Come with me and I’ll arrange a bed for you.”

The freed Siyee was now a speck in the hazy morning sky. In the corner of her eye, Auraya saw Nekaun uncross his arms and knew the game was about to begin again.

“I thought we might explore the city today,” he said lightly. “I would like to introduce you to my people.”

His people, she mused. As if he is the sole ruler of this continent. I wonder how the other Voices feel about that.

“That would be interesting,” she replied. “I’m sure I have seen everything and met everyone in the Sanctuary by now - except the other Voices, of course.”

“They are eager to meet you,” he told her.

She smiled thinly. “I doubt that.”

He chuckled. “You must remember that, unlike myself, they once faced you across a battlefield. They may be quite intimidated by you.”

Intimidated? She frowned. More likely he’s worried that they’ll attack me and break his promise that I won’t be harmed.

He gestured toward the stairs. “Shall we move on?”

She followed him into the building then through the Sanctuary. Turaan came after them silently. Servants paused to stare at her briefly before hurrying away. From their minds she read a now familiar mixture of curiosity and dislike for her. The Pentadrians knew her only from the battle. She was an enemy who had killed their former leader. They accepted Nekaun’s judgment, however, and concluded that if he was treating her politely, they would do the same.

Their regard for Nekaun was high, but not quite the same as the affection they felt for the other Voices. She also picked up thoughts in which he was compared to his predecessor, and from these she guessed that while Nekaun was liked and respected, Kuar had been adored.

Nekaun wants that adoration, she guessed. What will he do to earn it? She shivered. Invade Northern Ithania again? Yet by introducing her to his people and showing her their ways he was making a small step toward encouraging understanding between Circlians and Pentadrians. Perhaps he hoped that avoiding a war would raise him in the eyes of his people.

They had arrived at the large hall that was the entrance to the Sanctuary. It was as busy with Servants and non-Servants as it had been when Nekaun had first shown it to her. They paused to watch as Nekaun led her to the arched façade at the front of the building. He stepped out and began descending the wide staircase.

At the edge of the road below, several muscular, bare-chested men and a Servant stood beside a litter. Looking closer, Auraya picked up thoughts of boredom and resentment as well as resignation. These were the first slaves she had seen. Nekaun had told her of the tradition of enslaving criminals. It was a novel idea - perhaps more merciful than execution - though only useful to the Servants since the system would work only if slave masters were Gifted enough to suppress rebellion.

Nekaun ushered her onto the litter, where she sat opposite him and his Companion. The Servant barked orders and the slaves bent to pick up the litter. It was a disconcerting sensation being lifted by the men. Though the worst they could do to her was drop the litter she could not help feeling uneasy.

At Nekaun’s order they set off down the wide main street of the city. Her host began talking, and Turaan translated. He spoke about the houses that had been removed long ago to make this parade, and other changes that had been made a hundred years ago. Auraya barely heard. Her attention was being drawn away by the thoughts of the people around her.

As they noticed the litter they stopped to stare. Initially it was Nekaun that attracted their interest, as the sight of the First Voice was something that excited them. She caught glimpses of plans to boast to friends and family about sighting him.

But the excitement was short-lived. All around her, interest was changing to shock and anger, and she was the cause. Those that didn’t recognize her from the war were informed by those who did. Rumors had circulated that she was in the Sanctuary. Few favored her presence, but now they were outraged that she might show herself so openly to the kin of those she and her allies had killed.

Never mind that this was Nekaun’s idea, she thought wryly.

As the anger of the crowd increased, Auraya’s skin prickled with warning. She drew a little magic and surrounded herself with a light, invisible barrier. Nekaun’s chatter had slowed. A slight crease appeared between his brows, but he kept talking. Auraya endeavored to look unconcerned, hoping that if they kept moving the crowd would not have the chance to gather and confront them.

Not that I have anything to fear from them, she told herself. But it would be embarrassing to Nekaun, and that’s never good for a man in his position.

People had begun to follow the litter. She felt her heartbeat quicken. As the crowd grew, the slaves noticed and began glancing around with worried expressions. Turaan was pale, but he kept translating doggedly. Nekaun ordered the litter into a side street.

They had travelled only a short way along this when people began to emerge from narrow streets on either side. A noisy crowd formed around the litter, forcing it to stop.

“Murderer!” someone shouted.

“Go home. You’re not welcome here!”

Those and following shouts were spoken in the local tongue, but Auraya knew she could pretend she guessed their meaning from their tone. She looked around at the people. One man met her eyes, scowled, then spat at her face. The spittle splattered against her shield and dropped to the ground.

She realized her heart was racing. Though she did not fear these people, she could not help reacting to their threatening behavior. Nekaun ordered the litter lowered. As it met the ground he stood up. The crowd drew back a few steps and quietened.

“People of Glymma, do not shame me,” he implored. “I understand your anger. Here before you sits a sorceress who was once our enemy, and you see no reason to gain her favor. But there is a reason. A very good reason. She does not know or understand you. If she did, she would love you as I do. Like me, she would not bear to see you or your families harmed. I know you are honorable and loyal. Let her see that, not this pointless hatred.”

The people were not entirely convinced, but Nekaun’s words had subdued them into a dissatisfied and begrudging obedience. They drew back, muttering. Nekaun sat down and nodded to the Servant controlling the slaves. The litter rose again, and the crowd parted to allow it to continue.

Though Nekaun appeared relaxed, there was a stiffness to the way he braced himself against the swaying of the litter. He did not meet her eyes. It was obvious he had miscalculated his people badly.

Her heart was still beating quickly, yet she felt only sadness. They hate me, she thought. They hate me and I understand why. I represent their enemy. Nekaun will have a hard time convincing them to ally with Northern Ithania in the future. In fact, it may be impossible.

As soon as the litter had turned down the next street Nekaun ordered the men to return to the Sanctuary. Auraya looked at him questioningly.

“We will return and change to a covered platten,” he told her. “Not for your safety,” he assured her. “You are in no danger, but it will be more convenient and prevent delays. I am sorry you had to see that.”

“Are you? Or was this to show me the effect of my apparent crimes?”

“No. I did not expect it,” he said. “I forget sometimes that most people are less forgiving than I.”

“You were not in the war, then?”

“I was.” He turned back to meet her regard, all signs of weakness gone.

“Then surely you understand their anger,” she said. “It is never easy to forgive the killing of family and friends, and they have no choice but to believe the invasion of Northern Ithania was justified or else they would lose faith in their gods and leaders. So they blame the people they invaded.”

“Your people are not innocent of that crime now,” he reminded her. “It is amusing to hear you admonish us when you accompanied those who invaded us.”

“The Siyee attack on the birds?” She shook her head. “That was no invasion, but a foolish act of vengeance for the actions of your people in Jarime.” Arranged by Huan, she added silently.

“Interesting that you think so,” he said.

“What else would it be? Your defenses must be weak indeed if thirty or so Siyee could have threatened Southern Ithania.”

“Thirty-three Siyee and one sorceress,” he corrected. “Ah, but you were forbidden by your gods to join in any fighting, weren’t you? How strange.”

She shrugged.

He smiled. “I suspect your gods have other reasons to send you here. Trouble is, I cannot guess what. Except, perhaps, that you are a spy.”

“Then why are you giving me the tour of your city?”

“Because I know you will find no great secrets or weaknesses here. We are not planning another invasion of Northern Ithania. I am serious about forging peace between our peoples.”

She looked at Nekaun. “But I have discovered a weakness here. You do not truly understand your own people. You may read their thoughts, but you won’t accept that there is too much hatred between our peoples now for peace to come so easily. Either side will resist any attempt to ally with those that killed their kin. They crave revenge, and if they get it vengeance will be dealt out in kind. It may go on and on, year after year, century after century. Why? Because your gods urged your people to invade mine.”

He stared at her, then slowly smiled.

“Ah, but have you ever wondered why they did?” he asked. “Because yours won’t tolerate followers of any gods but the Circle. Don’t the peoples of the world deserve the freedom to worship who they wish?”

The litter was coming alongside the Sanctuary steps. Auraya met Nekaun’s eyes. “Perhaps they do, but if your gods thought invading Northern Ithania would free mortals from Circlian intolerance they made a supremely grand mistake. All they did was kill a lot of people, Circlian and Pentadrian, and ensure many more would continue to die.”

The litter stopped. Nekaun gave no orders, instead considering her words.

“To that I can only make two replies. Firstly, that the decision was not the gods’, as they leave such matters to us to decide. Secondly, that we will never find peace if we never look and strive for it. It may take time and much effort.” He smiled. “Unlike you, I have all the time in the world.”

Since announcing that the servant had reached his destination and ordering Yem, Gillen and Danjin back into the platten, Ella’s attention had been caught in some distant place. The men now spoke in hushed voices to avoid distracting her. When Gillen won a game of counters his comical choked noises and gestures of suppressed glee made Danjin’s loss of coin less painful.

It helped that Danjin rarely lost to Gillen. Yem, on the other hand, was surprisingly adept at the game. Fortunately Yem was as scornful of wagers and gambling as Gillen was enchanted by them. Losing to him only cost Danjin a little pride.

Gillen had put away the set now and was sitting with his eyes closed. Slowly the man’s head tilted sideways and his mouth opened. A soft snorting filled the cabin.

Yem didn’t appear to notice. He was sitting with the relaxed ease of a younger man, his eyes almost closed and his gaze distant. He went into this meditative state whenever conversation lapsed, and Danjin would not have been surprised to find it was a skill all warriors were taught. Whenever there was a loud noise or someone spoke, Yem’s eyes would open and he was instantly alert.

I could do with that skill, Danjin thought.

He turned to regard Ella, and was surprised to find her watching him. She smiled.

“Have you learned much?” he asked.

She nodded, then glanced at Yem, who was now regarding her expectantly.

“I will tell you,” she said. “Then we must sleep as best we can. We will travel through the night to lessen the chances of the villagers learning we are coming. A platten passing at night might attract some curiosity, but if we travel during the day we are sure to be noticed.”

“The arem will not last,” Yem warned.

“Then we will purchase more.”

Yem’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing. Danjin had seen the warrior helping the servants tend to the animals, and had even heard him murmuring into one of the arem’s ears soothingly when a distant howling in the forest had spooked it. Few Dunwayan warriors owned reyna, but those that did all but worshipped the animals. Danjin had never seen a warrior show any regard for the slow, practical arem.

Danjin looked at Gillen, who was still snoring. He nudged the man’s foot with the toe of his sandal. It took a few taps before he woke up.

“What? Are we stopping now?” Gillen asked, blinking at them.

“No. Ellareen is going to tell us what she has discovered,” Danjin replied.

Gillen rubbed his eyes. “Oh.”

“Take a moment to wake up properly,” Ella said gently.

The ambassador slapped his cheeks. “I’m fine. Go ahead.”

Ella smiled and shrugged. “The story I’ve pieced together from the villagers’ minds is this: almost a year ago a Pentadrian ship was wrecked near a village named Dram. The villagers rescued as many as they could and welcomed them into their homes. The survivors repaid them by working in the fields or with domestic chores. When they expressed a wish to stay, the villagers helped them build homes and find work, with the permission of the clan that owns this land.

“What they don’t know was that the ship had been deliberately wrecked, and that those on board had not struggled to live in their infertile homeland, as they’d claimed. They were Pentadrian priests and their families, sent to befriend and then convert Dunwayans.”

She scowled. “They’ve managed to convert half the village so far. The rest accept the conversion of their fellow villagers, though a few resent the newcomers for various petty reasons.” She looked at Yem. “Once settled, the Pentadrians began to arrange for discontented servants to be brought to Dram. I don’t know why the local clan has allowed these Pentadrians to stay, but I intend to find out. The villagers believe the increase in produce from the extra workers ensures their leaders aren’t looking too closely at matters.”

Yem shrugged. “We don’t often see the Correl clan in Chon. They pay their taxes and cast their votes, but otherwise keep to themselves.”

“I want to pay them a visit,” she said.

“We will pass the road to their fortress tomorrow,” he told her.

Ella looked thoughtful. “Good. We’ll need their help rounding up these Pentadrians.”

“You risk warning the Pentadrians of your arrival if you visit the fortress,” Gillen warned. “What if there are spies there?”

“I will find and deal with them,” she said firmly.

Yem shifted in his seat. “What will you do with the Pentadrians?”

Ella frowned. “That will be up to Juran and I-Portak to decide.”

“Along with the fate of the villagers?”

“Yes.”

Yem’s brow furrowed again, but he stayed silent. Gillen grimaced and sighed.

“The villagers were deceived,” Danjin pointed out. “All they are guilty of is extending a helping hand to people they thought were in need. Surely they won’t be punished for that.”

“The clans won’t care,” Gillen said. “They will want to make an example of them, to discourage servants from leaving their masters or hiding the enemy.”

“They will be given a chance to explain themselves,” Yem assured Danjin.

Will it do them any good? Danjin wondered. Dunwayan justice tended to be unforgiving and brutal.

“They turned from the gods,” Ella said darkly. “They are not completely guiltless, Danjin.”

He stared at her, perturbed. Her eyes narrowed and he felt a chill run down his back. Why do I feel like she is looking for signs of disloyalty? He pushed the feeling aside. My role is to advise. I’m supposed to ask uncomfortable questions.

“What of those villagers who did not turn from the gods, who do not know they were deceived?”

“Who ought to have reported the presence of the enemy?” she asked in reply. “Nobody is guiltless in this case, Danjin.”

“The lack of interference from the clan may have been taken as approval,” Danjin argued. “They would have feared to speak against their masters.”

“You don’t know that, Danjin,” she said, smiling, “but we will find out soon enough. If it will ease your conscience, I will look for such thoughts among the villagers. I doubt, however, that the clans will be as sympathetic as you are.” She looked at Yem, who shrugged resignedly. “Now let’s get what sleep we can. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

28

The hall in which the Voices held formal dinners for guests echoed with Reivan’s and Imenja’s steps. Five places were set at the end of the long table. Just five people dining in this enormous room. It seemed ridiculous, but it was all part of Nekaun’s efforts to impress Auraya.

As Reivan and Imenja neared the end of the table a door opened nearby. A woman entered and for a moment all Reivan saw was the white garb of a Circlian Priestess, and she felt a rush of fear.

Then she saw Nekaun following the woman, Turaan trailing behind. The black of his robes were a contrast to Auraya’s white. An equally powerful statement. She felt fear subside to a nervous excitement.

With both Imenja and Nekaun present, Reivan was safe enough. Auraya could not hope to overcome Nekaun and Imenja in magical strength... though it was hard for Reivan to imagine the two Voices cooperating.

They would if they had to, she thought. Taking a deep breath, she hoped her fear hadn’t shown on her face. Of course, that wouldn’t help much if Auraya could still read minds. She glanced at Imenja.

:Can she?

:We are not sure.

“Priestess Auraya, this is the Second Voice, Imenja,” Nekaun said. Turaan translated the words into Hanian. “Imenja, this is Priestess Auraya, formerly of the White,” Nekaun finished.

“Welcome to Glymma and the Sanctuary,” Imenja said in Avvenan. “It is much better to be facing you over dinner rather than a battlefield.” Auraya’s expression remained blank until Turaan translated, suggesting to Reivan that Auraya could not read minds.

The former White smiled faintly. “It certainly is - for myself as well.”

Imenja turned her head slightly toward Reivan, as if reluctant to stop watching Auraya for even a moment.

“This is my Companion, Reivan.”

Auraya met Reivan’s eyes. “I am honored to meet you, Companion Reivan. Nekaun has told me much about you, including how you led the Pentadrian army out of the mines.”

Reivan felt her face warm. “I am honored to meet you, too.” How much did he tell her about me? Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Reivan. He’s not going to discuss matters of the heart with a former White.

The former White looked amused, no doubt because of Reivan’s blush. Reivan was relieved when the woman’s attention shifted back to Imenja, who said something about Reivan knowing the Sennon language so perhaps they should all speak that, but Reivan barely heard because Nekaun had finally met her gaze. He smiled, making her heart skip, then looked away and gestured to the table.

“Please sit down,” he said. “We shall talk in comfort.”

Imenja and Auraya moved to opposite sides of the table, while Nekaun took his customary place at the head. Reivan found herself sitting opposite Turaan. The man gave her a brief haughty look before turning his attention back to the others.

“It is an interesting idea, this position of Companion,” Auraya said. “I had an adviser, but he was not required to become a priest.”

“Why was that?” Imenja asked.

“An adviser need only be smart, educated and well-connected. A priest or priestess must be Gifted. If we restricted our advisers to priests and priestesses, we’d bar potentially valuable people from our service.”

“That is true,” Imenja agreed. “Which is why we no longer require all our Servants to have Skills.”

Please don’t tell her I’ve got no magical ability, Reivan thought at Imenja. That’s something I’d rather a former White didn’t know.

“Most of our Servants are Skilled,” Nekaun added. “The few that aren’t have exceptional abilities that more than make up for their lack of magical talent.”

“Do you have a group similar to the Thinkers?” Imenja asked.

Auraya shook her head. “There are wealthy, educated men and women who explore academic pursuits for the sake of entertainment, self-improvement or trade, but they have not united as a collective that I know of. What have your Thinkers discovered or developed recently?”

Nekaun began to describe several constructions the Thinkers had designed. Servants brought the first dish and conversation shifted to other subjects, slowed by the constant need for translation. Turaan drank a lot of water, but his voice grew hoarse as the evening lengthened. Reivan barely needed to speak at all. Instead she concentrated on absorbing and considering everything about Auraya.

After the last dish was eaten and the plates taken away, Imenja leaned forward.

“So what are your impressions of the Sanctuary and Glymma so far?”

Auraya smiled. “The Sanctuary is as beautiful as a palace. Glymma has obviously been planned and laid out with forethought and common sense. I’m particularly impressed by your aqueducts and uncluttered streets.”

“And its inhabitants?”

“No better or worse than those in the cities of the north.”

Imenja smiled. “No worse?”

“No.”

“I would have thought we had one point in our favor.”

“What is that?”

“We do not mistreat or despise Dreamweavers or those who follow dead gods.”

Auraya nodded. “That is true. But my people do not invade other lands. I think that is a point in our favor that far outweighs yours.” She paused to hold Imenja’s gaze, then shrugged and looked at Nekaun. “And attitudes toward Dreamweavers are changing for the better, with the encouragement of the White.”

Imenja’s eyebrows rose. “Encouragement? Didn’t they recently drive Mirar out of Northern Ithania?”

Auraya’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “That wasn’t their intention,” she said, a touch of irony in her tone.

“No? So he’s welcome to return any time he wishes?”

“I doubt it. The Circle may be willing to encourage acceptance of Dreamweavers, but they haven’t changed their minds about Mirar.”

“Why do they regard him so unfavorably?” Nekaun asked.

Auraya’s mouth tightened as she paused to consider her answer. “Their conflict began centuries ago, and I cannot tell you exactly why.”

“There must be more to it than Dreamweavers not worshipping gods,” Imenja said.

Auraya nodded. “I believe he foolishly set himself against them. I don’t think he’ll make the same mistake twice.”

Or would he? Reivan wondered. The Voices need to know if Mirar is dangerous. If he is so dangerous that the Circlian gods tried to kill him, is he dangerous to us? He survived being attacked by the most powerful White, so he must be magically strong... and Genza is bringing him here!

Auraya’s gaze snapped to Reivan, then away again.

“Would you like to know where he is?” Nekaun asked.

“I have no interest in Mirar,” Auraya said. “If he’s in Southern Ithania, you’re welcome to him.”

“Am I?” Nekaun chuckled. “How generous of you.” He leaned back and swept his gaze over them all. “It is late. Tomorrow I have more of the city to show Auraya, and then we have dinner with Third Voice Vervel. I will escort Auraya to her rooms.”

Reivan barely heard him. She was sure something strange had just happened, but she wasn’t sure what, and now Nekaun seemed almost eager to leave. As the others rose and pushed back their chairs Reivan followed suit. They spoke polite farewells then parted, Nekaun, Auraya and Turaan leaving by the door they had arrived through.

As Imenja started back down the hall, Reivan replayed the conversation about Mirar through her mind. She gave me such a look, but I’d said nothing. Surely that means...

“She probably read your mind,” Imenja said. “I think we finally caught her out. However, we don’t want her knowing that we have. Once she does we lose a small advantage.”

“So I won’t be meeting her again?”

“Not until we reveal our knowledge of her ability.” Imenja smiled apologetically. They moved out of the hall and into the corridor. “What did you make of her?”

Reivan considered. “I can’t say the chances of her allying with us are high.”

“Not even if Nekaun offered to hand over or kill Mirar?”

“No,” Reivan said slowly. “If she is loyal to her gods, she will not turn from them no matter what Nekaun offers.”

“That depends on what will please her gods more. Would they sacrifice her in exchange for Mirar’s death? She is no longer a White, so maybe her loss isn’t important to them.”

“She is a powerful sorceress. They would not want to lose her - at least not to us.”

Imenja nodded. “I agree. But we can’t dismiss the possibility that she will pretend to join us in order to secure Mirar’s death.”

“That would be a dangerous game to play. Would she risk discovery and death for the sake of killing Mirar?”

“It depends on how much her gods want Mirar dead.”

“And whether Nekaun does,” Reivan added. “Mirar is a powerful, immortal sorcerer. If he allies with us it won’t matter whether Auraya joins us or stays a Circlian ally.”

“That would be a much better arrangement for all, I think,” Imenja agreed. “Genza likes him, and thinks we will, too.”

“There is one significant problem, however.”

“Oh?”

“Dreamweavers do not kill. He would not be much use as an ally to counter Auraya.”

“Ah. That is true.”

“Having them both on our side would be even better.” Reivan chuckled. “Though that would be problematic, if they were at each other’s throats all the time.”

Imenja laughed darkly. “Yes, though it could be entertaining.”

Lifting the flap of the platten cover, Danjin saw the gates of an impressive structure ahead. The fortress of the Correl clan enveloped the crest of a hill with almost sinuous grace. All that could be seen of it were high walls, but those walls rose from the earth like natural outcrops of sheer rock. They looked as if they had been there for millennia and, despite or perhaps because of the subtle signs of repairs here and there, as if they would be forever.

Inside lived the small, reclusive Correl clan. Yem had told them the family’s decline was due mostly to few male heirs being produced. The current leader was an old man whose only son had been killed in a training accident. He had nominated a child of one of his granddaughters to succeed him.

But there were nephews and cousins enough to provide a small force of warriors.

Yem had gone ahead to announce their arrival. Danjin could not help worrying about the young man’s safety. If the warriors had been converted by the Pentadrians, too, who knew what could happen?

Danjin let the flap fall and looked at Ella. She smiled back at him.

“Don’t worry, Danjin. Yem is safe, and has arranged every thing.”

The platten slowed as it reached the hill. The arem were exhausted. The sound of their hoof beats suddenly echoed off close walls and the platten reached flat ground. It stopped and Ella drew the hood of her cloak over her head. Danjin followed her out and Gillen clambered after them.

They had arrived in a courtyard between two fortress walls. It was empty but for two warriors standing by a second gate and a pair of guards that Ella glanced at briefly. One of the warriors was Yem, the other a broad-shouldered man with gray in his hair.

“Greetings, Ellareen of the White. Welcome to my home,” the older warrior said quietly.

Ella smiled. “Greetings, Gret, Talm of Correl. This is Danjin Spear, my adviser, and Gillen Shieldarm, Ambassador of Hania.”

“Welcome. Come inside where we may talk in comfort,” he invited.

Ella had asked Yem to arrange for this meeting to be held with as few witnesses as possible. They saw no others as they walked through the second gate, along a narrow corridor and into a hall. Ella’s gaze was slightly distracted and Danjin guessed she was checking for the minds of unseen watchers.

Gret led them along the hall to a staircase and they ascended to a corridor. He stopped beside a door and ushered them into a cavernous room decorated with large wall hangings.

Ella took the seat Gret offered. The old warrior moved to a side table and poured fwa into five goblets, then handed them around.

“That is an impressive hanging,” Gillen murmured. He was gazing up at the largest. It depicted a grand view of hills divided into fields by low walls, with small villages glimpsed in the creases. The sea was a shimmering expanse beyond and huge clouds floated over all.

It’s just colored thread on cloth, Danjin thought. How do they get the sea to shimmer and the clouds to look so real just with stitches?

“My late wife made it,” Gret said. “She was gifted at the art. It is of the view from the roof of this fortress.”

“She was indeed gifted,” Gillen said. “It is an unusual subject for a Dunwayan hanging.”

“Unusual in such a large hanging,” Gret agreed. “Women often make smaller hangings of their homes, and keep them in their private rooms - which is why you have not seen them before.” He smiled. “Tia was more ambitious. I like them, so I had them moved in here after she died.”

He turned away and sat down opposite Ella. Gillen and Danjin took places on either side of the White. Looking up at the hanging again, Danjin wondered if one of the villages depicted on it was the one the Pentadrians had settled in.

“Yem said you were here on a matter of urgency and importance,” Gret said. “How can I be of help to you?”

“I need the assistance of your warriors,” Ella began. As she told him of the Pentadrians who had settled in Dram, the old man’s expression changed to dismay.

“Are you sure of this - that their intentions are ill?”

“I have read it from their minds,” Ella replied.

“I was told they were hard workers and kept their ways to themselves.”

“You did not investigate yourself?”

He shook his head. “I trust Dram’s leader. He would have reported any trouble. The Pentadrians pay their tithe. Some have even married locals.”

“You allowed marriages between Circlians and Pentadrians?”

He shrugged. “Of course.”

Ella shook her head in disbelief. “Tell me, was it a Pentadrian or Circlian rite?”

Gret shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”

“Did the Pentadrian of these couples convert to a Circlian, or the Circlian convert to a Pentadrian?”

He spread his hands.

“What will their children be, Pentadrian or Circlian?”

“I don’t know.” He was frowning now. “I prefer to leave them their privacy.”

“An admirably generous policy, if these newcomers were from Sennon or Hania. But these people are our enemy. They follow gods that would destroy us, if they could. We can’t trust them - as has been demonstrated here.” She leaned forward to stare at Gret. “I-Portak agrees with me. The Pentadrians and the people of Dram must be taken to Chon to be judged.”

Gret’s mouth dropped open, but he quickly closed it again. His face reddened.

“To Chon? Is that necessary? We could hold trials here.”

Ella shook her head. “It is impossible to hide something of this magnitude, Gret. People will find out.”

“But should the Pentadrians have the satisfaction of the world knowing of their success - no matter how brief?”

“People need to see what they have done in order to be alert for such deception in the future. And they need to see that rapid and appropriate punishment is dealt out to those who harbor Pentadrians.”

“But do all of the villagers have to go north? What of the old? Women? Children? It is a long way and a cruel hardship for the innocent.”

Ella grimaced. “They must all go, or innocents will be targeted in the future. Will you assist me?”

Gret’s shoulders drooped. “Of course.”

As Ella began to discuss numbers of men and a strategy for approaching and dealing with the villagers, Danjin considered the old warrior. Clearly his pride would suffer if others knew he had been deceived by the enemy. His income would suffer, too. A village emptied of workers meant crops, animals and fishing boats left untended. Danjin had to wonder how much of Gret’s dismay was due to loss of honor and profit, and how much at the journey and punishment his people were about to face.

Yet at the same time Danjin felt sympathy toward Gret’s protestations, and a nagging dismay. Was Ella so eager to make an example of the village that she would punish all with equal harshness, whether convert or not, old or young, adult or child?

I guess we’ll find out soon.

29

As dawn crept through the jungle, Mirar wiped his brow and tried to ignore the sweat already running down his back. Soon Genza would emerge from her cabin and propel the barge up the river again, and the motion would bring the relief of a breeze.

Mirar could imagine how unpleasant a river journey through Dekkar would be without a Voice on board. Each night, when Genza stopped for a meal and sleep, the breeze died. There was little or no wind on the river, and the heat was relentless.

Mirar had found his cabin stifling, so he slipped out each night to sleep on the deck with the crew. The jungle was never quiet. The buzz of insects and calls of birds formed a constant background noise. Occasionally other calls echoed through the trees. Some of these attracted more attention than others. Once a deep rumble close to shore caused all dinner conversation to end abruptly. A crewman had told Mirar it had been the call of the legendary roro, a giant black-furred carnivore with enormous pointed teeth. Stories had been told of roro that had swum out to vessels at night and dragged away passengers or crew.

Which explained why they kept several lamps burning brightly at night, and why they moored in the middle of the river, away from overhanging branches, and looped ropes around the vessel strung with bells.

The crewman was a wiry middle-aged man named Kevain. Each night the man invited Mirar to sleep beside him on the crowded deck, under his bug net, in exchange for some of Tintel’s oil. Kevain brought out a small skin of a potent liquor and they exchanged stories until the drink made them drowsy enough to sleep.

A sound nearby drew Mirar’s attention to Kevain. The man was climbing to his feet, deftly rolling up the bug net and stowing it away. He grinned at Mirar.

“We reach Bottom today,” he said. Bottom was the name of the town they were heading for. “You fear being up high?” he asked, pointing at the escarpment that loomed over them.

Mirar shook his head.

“Good. Good.” The man clenched a fist and waggled it - a gesture that Mirar had taken to be approval of courage. “It’s hard for those who do. If you feel bad, don’t look down.”

“I’ll remember that,” Mirar replied.

Kevain’s grin widened. “After that, you ride the winds. Lucky you. Ah, the Fourth Voice is awake and I best be getting to work.”

He hurried to join the crew, leaving Mirar to greet Genza. A quick morning meal was served then Genza took her position at the bow.

Finding a place to sit out of the way, Mirar watched as the jungle slid past and the cliff drew closer. After an hour or so the barge slowed. A small pier had appeared ahead of them. Genza left the job of steering the vessel to the pole men, who deftly brought it up to the pier and bound it securely.

A short but hurried interval of organization followed as supplies were carried off by domestics. Mirar collected his bag from his cabin, nodded farewell to Kevain, then waited near Genza until she gestured for him to join her. They stepped onto the pier together and started down it, Servants and domestics following.

At the end of the pier an equally narrow street passed between wooden houses built right up against each other. Walls were colored with bright paint in various stages of deterioration. The street was covered with sand, which seemed odd. Mirar had seen no sand in the jungle so far. Signs bearing pictures illustrating the business within hung above each door. There was little variety. The locals sold food, wine and transportation and hired out beds and women.

The latter leaned out of doorways wearing unconvincing smiles and bright, revealing clothes. They looked sick and unhappy, and shrank indoors at the sight of Genza and the Servants. He felt a pang of sympathy, and resolved to return here one day and see if he could help them. Genza barely glanced at the women, striding on to the end of the street.

A large building stood there. Behind it was the escarpment wall. Genza stopped to watch as a wooden box began to rise from the roof. Mirar noted the thick ropes stretching upward. He looked up. The escarpment loomed over the village. A tiny object moved against the dark rock: another box.

“The supplies are already on the way up,” Genza said. “We’ll catch the one coming down.”

Mirar noted a small crowd gathered outside the building. He sensed annoyance already changing to begrudging respect as these men and women saw the reason their ascent had been delayed.

Genza led him inside the building. A large iron wheel filled most of the room. Ropes as thick as Mirar’s arm stretched up through a gap in the roof.

“The lifters must hold close to the same weight,” Genza said, holding her hands out and raising one while dropping the other, then reversing. “The weight of the load coming down is often less than that coming up, as Dekkar has more produce to sell than western Avven. The operators load bags of sand to balance it.”

Mirar nodded. That would explain the sandy streets of the village. There would be no use in sending it back up.

As the descending box slowly dropped through the roof, Genza led Mirar up a set of wooden stairs to a platform. A man waited there, and as he saw Genza he respectfully made the sign of the star.

The box stopped level with the platform. The top half of the box’s side was open and Mirar could see several people within. He sensed fear and relief, but also exhilaration and boredom. Mirar recognized the smell of a root Dekkans used for its calming effect. Several of the passengers were chewing.

As the passengers saw Genza, their eyes widened. All made the sign of the star. The operator unlatched the bottom half of the box and opened it like a door. Once the people had left, descending from the platform using a different staircase, the man dragged out a few bags of sand. He stepped aside, and lowered his gaze as Genza entered. Mirar caught the man’s quick, curious glance as he followed.

A bell rang. The box jerked into motion. As it emerged from the roof, Mirar looked out on a sea of trees.

The jungle stretched out before them, only broken by the river, which twisted and turned upon itself several times. The view improved as they rose. He realized he could see the sea in the distance. This is what Auraya sees when she flies, he thought suddenly. He felt an unexpected pang of envy. Emerahl failed to learn to fly, but that doesn’t mean I would. I wonder if I’ll ever get a chance to ask Auraya to teach me. And if she’d agree to. I taught her to heal. She owes me something in return...

“What do you think of this little contraption?” Genza asked.

Mirar turned to regard her. “Impressive. Have there been many accidents?”

“A few.” She shrugged. “Mostly due to the foolishness of passengers. The rope is replaced every year, and tested carefully for flaws.” Looking out at the view, she gave a little sigh. “I never tire of this, no matter how many times I see it.”

Mirar gazed out at the view again. It truly was spectacular. Too soon the box slowed and then jerked to a halt. It had drawn level with a platform built out from the side of the cliff, surrounded by a railing. Mirar followed Genza out of the box and into another small village.

This place was as sprawling as Bottom had been compact. A broad street ran between widely spaced clay houses. Everything appeared to be the same bleached sand color - even the clothes of the locals - though that might have been the effect of the bright sun. It was both hotter and drier and the relentless sound of insects and birdsong had been replaced by the constant whine of wind.

“This is Top,” Genza said. “I know, not very imaginative names.”

The boxes and chests from the barge were being loaded onto a tarn, while two platten waited nearby to carry the Servants. Genza checked that all was arranged as she wished, then bade the Servants a good journey. Mirar looked at her questioningly. She smiled.

“We’ll go on alone from here. It’ll be much faster.”

“How?”

Her smile widened. “By windboat. Follow me.”

She strode through the village. At the edge Mirar saw a flat, featureless desert extending to the horizon. Genza led him to one of several windowless, two-story stone buildings at the village edge, and through a door. The interior was dark after the bright sunlight. As Mirar’s eyes adjusted he realized there was no ceiling above him. The building was hollow. To one side there were several large wooden doors. One was open, allowing in enough light to reveal the strange contraptions within.

Boats. Strange narrow boats with oversized sails. Mirar gazed around the room at the different vessels. All had flat, narrow wooden hulls and pale sails bound tightly to graceful masts. Genza looked up at him and grinned.

“You’ll like this.” She turned away as a middle-aged local man hurried toward her. He ushered them outside.

“The two windsailors over there are waiting for you,” he said, pointing at two figures in the distance standing beside two of the strange boats.

“I will not need a sailor,” she said, “but my companion will. Are the winds favorable?”

The man nodded. “If they keep up, they might take you all the way to Glymma.”

She thanked him and strode toward the distant figures. Mirar followed.

“Can they really take us all the way to Glymma?”

“So long as the wind holds,” she said. “We should be there in four days.”

Four days? Mirar shook his head. Now I know why she didn’t bother sailing around the coast. A ship would never have made it to Dekkar and back as quickly.

The figures were two young men. As Genza approached they smiled and made the sign of the star. She examined the windboats, then chose one. The sailor let go of it reluctantly. Mirar guessed that boats belonged to and were maintained by their sailors, and wondered how the young man would get his vessel back.

A gust of wind battered them, and the remaining windsailor was clearly straining to hold his boat still. When it had passed, Genza pointed to the front of the hull.

“You sit there, face forward,” she explained. “Don’t move. It takes balance as much as windsense and magic to sail these.”

Sitting down, Mirar placed his bag between his knees. He looked back to see that the windsailor had wound a scarf about his face and was now sitting at the stern. Genza settled in the same part of her adopted windboat and as another gust of wind rushed around them the sail unfurled and she shot forward.

As the boat beneath Mirar tilted, he grabbed hold of the edges. He heard the young man speak, his voice muffled. Glancing over his shoulder he saw the man pointing to the hull. He looked down and saw handholds. There were also two hollows for him to wedge his heels into. As he took advantage of both the young man made an undulating cry and the boat began to move.

It did not fly forward as Genza’s had, but slowly gained momentum. Mirar looked up to see that the sailor was unfurling the sail slowly.

They gathered speed. The boat slid away from the village. Mirar felt the wind gust against him from one side. Another cry came from behind him and he heard a snap of fabric as the sail unfurled completely. The boat turned abruptly and shot across the sand.

It was exhilarating. Mirar found himself whooping along with the windsailor. They scooted toward an unchanging horizon. But soon the sailor quietened, though the speed of the vessel didn’t diminish. The occasional crosswind blew dust into the side of Mirar’s face. The air was dry, and the sun beating down on them was hot and relentless.

Hours passed. Eventually they reached a stretch of shallow dunes. Gusts of wind began to buffet them from the side. Mirar felt every movement of the sailor as he fought the crosswinds. He felt a growing respect for the skill of the young man.

Then he remembered Genza and searched the sands ahead of them. There was no sign of her. But her boat carried only one passenger, so it was bound to go faster than his. He probably wouldn’t see her again for hours - probably not until they stopped for the night.

A spray of sand and a gleeful yell told him otherwise. Genza shot past them, laughing. Mirar could not help chuckling as she deftly sent her boat leaping off the crests of dunes and skimmed down their sides, showing skill probably gained over many more years than a mortal could ever hope to dedicate to the art.

If Genza is an example, these Voices are a lot better at having fun than the White, he thought.

Then he sobered. It was so easy to admire Genza in this place and at this moment. But this was the same woman who bred and trained birds to kill mortals, who waged war and ruled, along with her fellow Voices, an entire continent.

I will remember this side of her, he told himself, but I will not be charmed out of good sense and caution.

Though he pretended indifference, Barmonia never failed to be impressed by the ruins of Sorlina.

The high escarpment wall that had cast its shadow over them during the previous afternoons had collapsed here, and on the broken ruins of it a city had been built. The collapse had formed a natural, though steep, access point from the highlands of Avven to the lowlands of Mur, and while it was no surprise that a city had reaped the benefits of that in the past it was strange that none thrived here now.

The foreign woman had stared up at the city all the morning, stupefied by amazement. At one point, during a crossing of the river, she had said something to Raynora about there being too little water in it to sustain a city. Mikmer had put her in her place by pointing out it was the dry season, so of course there was little water.

She had looked at Mikmer with that amused, almost pitying way, but said nothing. Of course, if a city couldn’t sustain itself all year round it was bound to diminish and die anyway, but Barmonia hadn’t been about to shame Mikmer by pointing that out.

The old road zigzagged up the slope. It had once been smoothly paved, but the ground had shifted and the surface was broken in places. For this reason they had left the vehicles behind and now rode the arem that had pulled them, leading those carrying tents and supplies.

The road wound past rows of low stone walls, the remains of ancient houses. Or not so ancient, Barmonia amended. The city only died a few hundred years ago. Not like old Jeryma in the north or Karn in the south.

But the younger the ruin the less chance it had been plundered. In the past, Barmonia had opened tombs here still stuffed with treasures, and taken many statues and carvings back to Hannaya’s library and to sell to collectors. They weren’t as rare as the truly ancient pieces of other ruined cities, but they still attracted good prices. The statues often had remnants of paint on them, which buyers didn’t like, and he alone had found a method of removing it that didn’t harm the stone.

He smiled. If the directions written on the priest’s bones were correct, he was going to discover not just a new tomb, but a whole new section of the Temple of Sorli.

They were passing the larger houses near the top of the city now. Barmonia could hear Raynora talking to the woman.

“... over there. Public latrines. Yes, that’s right. They peed in front of their neighbors, and both men and women used them. Can you imagine the smell - oh, we dug up some of the dirt inside. No charcoal or dyes, but lots of the same straw-like stuff that we found in the latrines of private houses. Lots of coins, too...”

The road turned and they entered the first of the higher levels of the city in which public buildings had been constructed. Many walls still stood, as they had been made thicker and sturdier in order to support larger buildings. Ray named the buildings and described their uses.

Then the road turned again and they ascended into a large public square. The sight, as always, was both impressive and disturbing. It had been paved with enormous slabs of stone, and as the ground had shifted these had lifted and tilted. Few lay flat, so the whole space was an uneven jumble. Some of the slabs had even managed to shift into a vertical position, while others projected at such an angle that they looked as if they might fall over at any moment.

Ray fell silent as Barmonia dismounted and began to lead his mount and pack beast across the square. There had always been something eerie about this place. The wind made strange noises. The crossing took concentration and could not be done quickly. When heavily burdened, the arem could not deal with too great an incline.

When he reached the other side he breathed a sigh of relief. Sitting on a fallen column, he waited for the others to join him. The woman looked up at the structure behind him.

“The Temple of Sorli,” Raynora said quietly, leaning closer to her.

The others looked up and Barmonia watched as their faces fell.

“The dome is gone,” Yathyir said, pointing out the obvious.

“Yes.” Barmonia stood up and turned to regard the remains of the building. “It collapsed in a recent tremor most likely. Let’s hope it hasn’t blocked anything or we’ll have to get local help in.”

He handed the lead of the arem to a domestic then turned and walked inside.

Light and rubble now filled the large hall that had always been dimly lit. The former revealed the wall paintings in their full glory, as well as the damage that rain had caused. The latter had covered the floor with fragments from the size of pebbles to enormous slabs of stone. He made his way to the altar and paused to look up. The head of the massive stone goddess had broken off. He cast about and glimpsed an eye behind a large piece of the fallen dome.

Another piece rested between the back wall and the hips of the seated figure. He had to climb up into the wedge-shaped gap behind it to reach the doorway to the inner chamber. The magnificent carved doors had been removed centuries ago to become part of a collector’s mansion in Glymma.

Better that than rotting here, he thought. Or more likely the locals would have cut them up for firewood years ago.

The chamber beyond was roofed and dark, so he sent Ray back for torches. Barmonia was amused when Ray returned with only five and handed them out to the Thinkers, leaving the foreign woman without a light.

Perhaps he’s not as enchanted by her as he appears.

The inner chamber was a small room with an empty altar in the center. Barmonia had no idea where the statue had gone and would willingly pay a good sum to find out, but he had seen sketches of it. He was satisfied to see the woman was frowning at the altar.

“The bones said ‘Sorli will direct,’ ” she said. “Sorli is no longer here.”

“Obviously not,” Mikmer replied dryly.

“There’s a picture of her in the library,” Yathyir said gravely. “I remember it.”

Barmonia smiled. This was why he put up with the strange boy. He might be a freak, but his memory was impressively good.

“Describe her to us,” Barmonia ordered.

The youth considered the stone, then walked over to Raynora.

“Help me up,” he said.

Ray hoisted Yathyir up. The boy moved to the center of the altar and paused to think.

“She holds a cup in one hand and is pointing at the ground with the other,” he said, mimicking the pose.

“So the entrance to the secret temple is below this stone?” Ray asked, regarding the huge block dubiously.

“Probably.” Barmonia moved behind the stone and rubbed his shoe on the floor. “There are scratches here. Thinkers have always believed they were made when the stone was first moved here, but perhaps it was shifted more often than that.”

“How?” Yathyir asked, jumping down to examine the scratches.

“With magic,” Barmonia replied. “Skill is always a requirement of priests.”

“How are we going to shift it, then?”

“With our skills.” Barmonia turned to the entrance. “Which is why I brought so much equipment.”

“You didn’t need to,” the woman said quietly.

Barmonia turned to regard her. She no doubt wanted to show off whatever Skill she had, but he had no intention of letting her. “This should be moved gently and carefully or you—”

“Oh, spare me the lecture,” she interrupted. “You obviously don’t know anything about magic if you think it less subtle than levers and ropes.”

He felt anger flare at her arrogant tone, then bit back a curse as she turned her back on him to face the altar.

“Don’t you...” Taking a step forward, he reached out to grab her shoulders but his hands skittered over some invisible barrier. The others were moving backward, their faces betraying curiosity and excitement.

“I’ll lift it first,” she said to Ray. “Take a look underneath and tell me what you see.”

Barmonia felt a chill run down his spine as the altar stone rose slowly upward. His stomach clenched. Magic always had that effect on him. A woman should not be able to lift a huge block of stone. It was unnatural.

Ray dropped to the ground and examined the gap between the stone and the floor. Incredibly, he ran his hands under it, trusting that she wouldn’t drop the stone on him.

“There is a square hole beneath. Looks like you could slide the altar to the back of the room without breaking anything.”

The woman nodded and the stone began to move backward. A staircase descending into darkness was revealed. The stone settled onto the floor without a sound.

The bitch has control, Barmonia conceded. Then another thought occurred to him. If she is this powerful, how are we going to get rid of her?

They’d have to trick her, which shouldn’t be hard. She was a lone woman in a land she didn’t know, where people spoke a language she had admitted she had only recently learned. They might have to slip away from her rather than send her away. Whatever happened, he was not going to let some foreign sorceress take any of the credit for finding this tomb.

I can turn this to our advantage. If we tell people about her moving stones like some magical work beast, that’s all she’ll be remembered for.

He stepped forward. Suddenly respectful, she moved back and allowed him to lead the others down the stairs. At least she knew her place. She was the magical work beast. He was the leader of the expedition.

The walls were carved with religious scenes, but they were too coated in dust to make out. There would be time for that later. He gave up counting the stairs after one hundred. Their descent seemed to go on forever, so when he suddenly found himself at the bottom it was a surprise. He stopped.

A narrow corridor just wider than his shoulders continued into darkness. He started along it, moving slowly. The corridor was free of rubble at first, but soon became cluttered. At one point he stepped over a crack as wide as his hand that had severed the entire passage. Not long after he saw a faint light ahead, then several strides later he had reached the end of the passage.

“Halt!” he called, fearful that the others would blunder into him and push him over the precipice.

“What is it?” Mikmer asked, his voice close to Barmonia’s shoulder.

“A crack,” Barmonia replied. “An enormous crack. It must be two hundred paces to the other side.”

“Does the passage continue on the other side?”

“I don’t know. I can barely see it.”

“Let me come forward and I will make a light,” the woman offered.

Barmonia was tempted to refuse out of spite, but he could think of no other way to know the size of the crevice.

“Come forward, then.”

There was a shuffling behind him as the men made room for her to pass them. A spark of light flared into existence and floated past his shoulder, moving slowly out into the void. The opposite wall brightened. There was no passage in it.

“No,” Barmonia said. “The corridor ends here.”

As the light brightened he looked down. Not far below was a jumble of rocks, filling the crevice. Looking up, he felt his blood turn cold.

A massive slab of the wall beyond had fallen forward and now rested precariously against the opposite surface. A tremor of enough force would one day free it, and it would come crashing down on top of the rubble below.

He drew in a deep breath and let it out again. Looking down, he surveyed the floor of the crack. Some pieces of the rubble were larger than a house.

“Hopeless,” he muttered. “If anything was there it is gone now.”

He turned and pushed past the woman. The others looked at him closely, reading the disappointment from his face. He began to move past them, to lead the way back.

“There are handholds in the rock.”

Barmonia turned to see Yathyir crouching by the edge.

Walking back, he peered over the edge and saw that the boy was right. Grooves had been carved into the wall below the passage. Looking closer, Barmonia realized that the outside edge of the passage had been carved with a decorative border. This was meant to be a precipice.

Leaning out further, he saw that the handholds continued down to the floor of rubble.

“If there is anything down there, it is well buried,” he amended.

“But it can be dug out,” the woman said.

“That will take months.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

Barmonia turned to glare at her.

“Or maybe it does.” She shrugged. “The choice is yours.”

“Let me see,” Kereon said.

The woman and Yathyir moved back into the passage to allow Mikmer and Kereon to look at the crevice. Mikmer turned back, allowing Raynora past.

“I don’t like the look of that bit of wall above us,” Mikmer said. “I think, whatever we do, we should do it quickly.”

Kereon nodded in agreement.

“I most definitely agree,” Raynora said from the end of the passage, still looking upward.

Barmonia managed to stop himself scowling at them. Local workers would have to be paid. And watched, which meant someone had to be in there with them. They could be clumsy. A loud noise might be enough to send the wall tumbling down on them. Then there’d be more rubble and rotting bodies to clear.

He turned to the woman. “Then you had better get started.”

“I will,” she said, holding his gaze. “Tomorrow. This will take concentration and I could do with a night’s sleep.”

He shrugged. “Tomorrow then.” The others looked relieved - happy to leave the work to another. Yet Barmonia did not like the thought of her uncovering anything without someone else around. She might pocket something. Someone must watch her. He considered his fellow Thinkers.

Not Raynora. He’s too weak when it comes to women. Mikmer and Kereon will insist on shifts if I pick them. That leaves Yathyir. Yes, he’ll do.

The boy was a useful freak, but still a freak. If the ceiling fell, it would hardly be a loss to the world.

Turning on his heel, Barmonia led the others back along the passage.

Auraya had settled into a routine in the evenings. First she and Nekaun would enter her rooms. He would draw her attention to a new gift and she would make the appropriate noises of gratitude and admiration. Then he would leave and she would pause a moment to look around and sigh with relief.

The tables and shelves of the room now bore many objects. Large stone statues of dancers, tiny blown glass warriors and carved wooden animals stood next to toy ships floating in pottery bowls. Bolts of fabric patterned with pictures of farmers and aqueducts were neatly draped across a bench. Reed chairs had been delivered the day she had visited the river where the source plant was harvested. After a walk in one of the city’s lush gardens she had returned to find a cage containing two brightly colored birds.

All this was hers to keep, or so Nekaun had said. Which meant nothing, because she couldn’t fly back to Si carrying reed chairs and stone statues and she didn’t intend to return in a Pentadrian ship.

Next she would look for Mischief, who always hid when Nekaun was about. Tonight it took only moments to find him. A familiar pointy nose emerged from behind one of the large pottery water vessels brought every day. She crouched beside it.

“There you are, Mischief.” She smiled as he hauled himself to his feet with obvious effort and let her scratch his head. The heat made the little veez sleepy and subdued. During the day he lay sprawled on the stone floor, rising only to eat or drink. The domestics seemed fascinated by him, brought him fish, and had taught him the Avvenan words for food and water.

Danjin would be amazed to see Mischief now. He’ll be annoyed to hear the veez didn’t give the Pentadrians any trouble.

Reassured that Mischief was alive and well, she sat down in one of the reed chairs for her next nightly task. Closing her eyes, she focused her mind on the ring around her finger.

:Juran.

:Auraya. How are you?

:I’m tired of this game. Heartily sick of the sight of Nekaun, too. But otherwise I’m fine.

:And the Siyee?

:Twenty-one free, twelve still imprisoned. What has Teel reported?

:That they are in good spirits, though staying fit enough to fly is increasingly hard in the close confines of their prison.

:Have any of them reached Si yet?

:I don’t know. None have reached the Open yet. He paused. I don’t suppose the Voices have given away any useful information about themselves?

:Nothing new.

:When is Mirar due to arrive?

Auraya felt her heart skip a beat.

:Any day now.

:We have discussed this at length. At first we felt it best that you ignore him. But if the Voices intend to recruit him, then you ought to do whatever you can to stop them. Or persuade him not to join them.

:How do you suggest I do that? Auraya could not help sounding a little resentful.

Juran was silent a moment.

:I am not suggesting you seduce him.

:No, but last time we met I was sent to kill him. He’s hardly going to trust me now.

:He might. After all, you didn’t kill him.

Neither of them said what was obvious: that Mirar would not have been a problem now if she had killed him.

:I won’t know what is possible until he gets here, she told Juran. In the meantime, my main priority is freeing the Siyee.

:Yes. Of course. I will speak to you again tomorrow night.

Standing up, Auraya moved into the bedroom and lay down. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, but her mind kept moving from the Siyee’s predicament to Mirar’s impending arrival. Soon she was staring at the ceiling.

She had communicated with the priests in the Open, asking them to pass on to Speaker Sirri the bad news, then later to tell them of her bargain with Nekaun and suggest that Siyee fly food and water out into the Sennon desert for the freed Siyee. A few times she had skimmed minds looking for the Siyee returning home. She had only found a few, and they had been tired, thirsty and distressed. She could do nothing to help them.

The last thing she wanted to be worrying about was meeting Mirar. But they would be watching her and Mirar closely. They would expect her to treat Mirar as an enemy, or at least someone she considered dangerous and untrust-worthy. They would expect him to treat her the same in return. The trouble was, their relationship wasn’t that simple. She had no idea how she would react to him.

I’m going to have to pretend to hate him, she thought. And he’ll have to do the same to me. That will be an even greater challenge for him, if he still thinks he loves me.

If the Voices thought she or Mirar had any fond feelings for each other, they would take advantage of it. Nekaun had already shown himself willing to use blackmail.

I’m already expecting him to offer to kill Mirar in exchange for some favor. More likely he’ll offer to kill me in order to seal a bargain with Mirar.

I hope Mirar realizes how badly timed his little visit is.

I hope he has seen the danger he’ll be putting us both in.

I hope he knows he must behave as if he hates me.

I hope he isn’t intending to take Nekaun up on his offer to kill me.

I hope... bah! I should just dream-link with him and ask.

Closing her eyes, she forced herself to breathe slowly. Though she tried to let her mind drift, it refused to settle into more than an anxious semi-conscious state.

A small, soft thump and vibration brought her back to full consciousness. Lifting her head she smiled wryly as she saw that Mischief had jumped onto the bed and was curling up nearby. Though it was cooler for him to sleep by the water vessels, he still preferred to be close by when she slept.

Somehow his presence made it easier to relax. She lost track of time. Her thoughts fragmented, then drew together again so that she was conscious, but also aware that she was not completely awake. Time to call Mirar.

His response was immediate.

:Auraya!

The feeling of surprise and pleasure that came with his response told her that she didn’t need to worry that he planned to let Nekaun kill her. She only had to worry that his infatuation with her would get them both into trouble.

Still, it was nice that someone was glad to hear from her.

:Mirar. I’ve heard you’re coming to Glymma.

:Yes. I’m afraid I have no choice in the matter. Fourth Voice Genza made it clear her invitation was more of an order than a suggestion.

:How did they find out who you are and where you were?

:Did you expect me to hide my identity here? he asked in reply.

She considered his question. Pentadrians tolerated Dreamweavers. Why would he hide? The only reason she could think of was so that he could avoid the Voices. Perhaps he didn’t want to. Perhaps it had been his intention all along to ally himself with them.

I’ve been thinking that it was bad timing for him to be visiting Glymma now, but in truth there is nothing unexpected in him coming here. It’s just bad timing that I happen to be here.

:I suppose not, she replied. But us both being here at the same time is going to be awkward. The Voices will expect us to behave like sworn enemies.

:And we aren’t?

:I have no intention of killing you.

:Even if the gods order it?

:They know the limits to my obedience. Mind you, I’d reconsider if you gave me a reason to.

:Then I had better reassure you that I have no intention of killing you, or agreeing to any offer by the Voices to do it for me, he said.

:That is a relief. How good are your acting skills?

:I think I can convince them that I despise you. That is what you have in mind, isn’t it?

:We could hardly pretend to be the best of friends. Nekaun has already blackmailed me. I don’t think he’d hesitate to do so again. If he proposes to either or both of us that the other be killed, we can at least buy time while making up our minds. If he decides one of us might be manipulated by threatening the other, he will do so without hesitation.

:And by pretending to hate each other, we buy the Siyee more time.

:Yes. Auraya felt an unexpected gratitude and affection. Thank you for doing this. It won’t endanger you or the southern Dreamweavers, will it?

:No. Once you are gone, I can claim I was bound by the Dreamweaver vow to never harm another - even my enemy.

:A vow which makes you less valuable as an ally.

:But hopefully reassures them that I am no threat to them. I’m sure the Voices and I can come to an understanding.

:I’m glad we sorted this out. When will you arrive?

:Tomorrow, or the next day. It depends on the wind.

:The wind?

:I’ll explain when I get there.

:Just make sure you do it in an angry, accusing tone.

She felt a wave of amusement.

:I will explain in a dream-link, he told her. We should link each night, to make sure we both know what the other has said or done - and what the Voices have said or done. I wonder which of us will get the best offer to join them. We should keep score.

:This isn’t a game, Mirar.

:No, of course not. But we could have a little fun at their expense, so long as it doesn’t do any harm.

The idea was tempting, but...

:I’d rather not take the risk. Not with Siyee lives at stake.

:No, you’re right. Well, I best get some sleep. It could be a long ride tomorrow.

She bade him good night, then, as she sank toward sleep, could not help noticing how much better she felt. As if a burden had been eased. It was more than just relief that Mirar agreed with her on how they would act.

I won’t be alone here any more, she thought sleepily. I’ll have a... an ally? No, perhaps just a friend.

30

Conversation around the balcony dwindled to silence as footsteps echoed in the corridor beyond. A Servant appeared in one of the archways and made the sign of the star.

“First Voice Nekaun sends his apologies. He will not be able to attend the meeting,” the man said.

The Voices and Companions exchanged glances.

“Thank you, Servant Ranrin,” Imenja replied.

The man inclined his head, then hurried away. Reivan felt a sinking disappointment. She hadn’t seen Nekaun in weeks. Not since Auraya had arrived. She guessed he was catching up on the normal business of a First Voice after finishing with his guest for the evening. He was too busy to visit her. She could accept that... though the longer it had been the stronger the pangs of jealousy she felt.

But... tonight she had been looking forward to just seeing him. To hearing his voice. To the way he smiled at her as if she was his special secret...

When the Servant’s footsteps had faded beyond hearing, the three Voices shifted in their seats so they faced each other. Vervel grimaced as if he had just tasted something unpleasant.

“Shall we proceed?” he asked.

Imenja looked at Shar. “I can’t see why we shouldn’t.”

The blond Voice nodded. “Me neither. Where shall we begin?”

“With our own lands, as always,” Imenja decided.

Reivan listened as they discussed matters in Glymma, then moved on to a few domestic issues within Avven, Mur and then Dekkar.

“There is merit in the new High Chieftain’s idea,” Imenja said. Vervel’s eyebrows rose.

“Oh?”

“In other cities it is possible for lowly citizens to work their way to higher standing in society. From beggar to domestic, for example. But the physical limitation placed on the poor living below Kave makes ascending to a better position near impossible.”

“And how will the High Chieftain’s idea solve this?” Shar asked.

“It creates a middle level which might act like a step on a ladder. A ladder leading to self-improvement.”

“A fanciful idea,” Vervel said. “I doubt it is practical.”

“But worth a try.” Imenja’s shoulders lifted. “In a small area at first, perhaps.”

Vervel shrugged. “Perhaps.”

The two Voices stared at each other, then Imenja smiled.

“Contact Genza and ask what she thinks. She has seen Kave only recently.”

Vervel gave a quiet snort and looked away. “Why waste her time?”

Imenja frowned. “Because we should at least try to serve the gods,” she said firmly.

An awkward but mercifully short silence followed. Reivan looked down at her glass of water. This was the closest the Voices had come to acknowledging the changes that Nekaun had brought. She knew what Vervel had wanted to ask. Why waste Genza’s time asking her opinion, when Nekaun might override all the other Voices when it came to the final decision?

She drew in a deep breath, but resisted the urge to sigh. The way Nekaun treated the other Voices was unnecessary, surely. She could see that, but at the same time another part of her believed he must have a good reason, even if she could not see it at the time. The gods had chosen him. He was intelligent and clever.

How was it possible for her to see his flaws, but not believe what she was seeing? Or not feel alarmed?

“Genza says we should support the idea.” Vervel’s gaze was distant. Imenja nodded.

“Now we should look beyond our lands,” Imenja said. “Has Sennon shown any inclination to reject the White and join us again?”

Shar shook his head. “No. The emperor refuses to see our messengers and returns our gifts.”

Imenja grimaced. “I don’t expect that to change.” The other Voices nodded in agreement. She sighed. “Our people in Jarime have been executed.”

A shock went through Reivan. She did not know what had gone wrong with the mission the Servants had undertaken in Jarime, but she felt a pang of sympathy for those who had died.

“Has the new White been seen in Dunway recently?” Imenja asked.

“Not since she disappeared,” Vervel replied.

“Have our people there been warned?”

Vervel looked away. “No. He thought they would panic and draw attention to themselves.” Reivan guessed “he” was Nekaun.

Imenja’s eyes narrowed for a moment. “I see. Well, I have received strange news from Genria and Toren. The two lands abruptly gathered together their armies, had them camp outside their main cities, then with no explanation dismissed them again.”

“The two monarchs do not get along, and the nations were often at war in the past,” Shar pointed out.

“But since the battle they have been the best of friends.” Imenja shook her head. “There were no reports of conflict between the two countries. In fact, both armies expected to join the other for some purpose, though none knew the reason.”

“Perhaps they were competing to see whose army was most efficient,” Shar’s Companion, Bavalla, suggested.

Imenja smiled and spread her hands. “Who knows? I find the Torens and Genrians the most inexplicable of northern peoples, sometimes.”

Vervel cleared his throat. “I have some news of a less welcome kind. Our people have been ordered to leave Somrey.”

Imenja frowned. “Why?”

“A decision of the Council of Elders. It’s rumored that the Dreamweaver and Circlian Elder votes were in agreement for the first time in history.”

“Of all northern lands but Sennon, Somrey has been the most accepting of different religions and cults,” Imenja said. “Our people studied their laws. There was none that could be used to remove us once we were accepted there.”

“The council created a new law so that they could achieve their aim,” Vervel said.

Imenja’s eyebrows rose. “Oh. Our people should examine this law, to see if there are any ways around it.”

“I’ve already given them the task.”

“Good. Now for Genza.” The three Voices stared into space for a moment, then smiled and looked at each other again. “All is well,” Imenja said for the benefit of the Companions. “Is there any other strange and unfortunate news from the north? Or perhaps good news?”

The others shook their heads.

“Very well. I would rather discuss the next two subjects with Nekaun present, but I would also prefer to tackle them now without him than not tackle them at all. Firstly, the Priestess Auraya’s presence here. Secondly, the Dreamweaver Mirar’s coming visit. Nekaun’s intention with Auraya appears to be to recruit her,” Imenja continued. “We should do nothing to jeopardize that aim.”

“Are you sure that is his aim?” Shar asked.

Imenja looked at him. “Has he said or hinted otherwise?”

Shar shook his head. “But we have to consider other possibilities. He might simply be delaying Auraya’s departure in order to keep her from assisting the White, or so that she will be here when Mirar arrives.”

“Perhaps Genria and Toren dismissed their armies because Auraya staying here upset some greater plan,” Vervel suggested.

“Such as invading Southern Ithania?” Imenja asked.

“None of the other Northern Ithanian lands are preparing for war, as far as we know.”

“As far as we know,” Shar echoed, smiling. “It is hard to tell, since they decided to start regular war training and recruitment, but haven’t yet managed to settle into a routine.”

“If Nekaun wants to prevent her assisting the White, why doesn’t he simply kill her?” she asked.

“He may not be sure an invasion is planned,” Vervel replied slowly. “If one isn’t, and he kills Auraya, that might be the insult that starts a war.”

“But surely he won’t let her leave,” Shar said. “He’ll kill her when the last Siyee flies.” He turned to Imenja, eyebrows raised in question.

Imenja said nothing. Reivan looked at the Second Voice and saw a distracted frown on her mistress’s face.

“What is it?” she murmured.

Imenja looked up at her, then at the other Voices and Companions.

“I have a suspicion. I’ve kept it to myself because there was no point in airing it after Kuar’s death. It is hard to argue against what appeared to be obvious, and if I had, some might have thought I was trying to shift the blame to Kuar. That would have been petty.” She paused and her gaze slid away to some distant memory. “During the battle with the Circlians we were drawing magic to the limit of our Skills. It is tempting at that point to take risks, and I foolishly relied on Servants to protect my back. A Siyee struck me with one of their poisoned darts.”

All nodded. Reivan remembered the moment vividly.

“I had to use magic to drive the poison out,” Imenja continued. “It cost me some strength. And at that moment Auraya struck Kuar.”

And killed him, Reivan thought. Her chest tightened at the memory. She had seen the body. All his bones had been shattered by the blow.

Imenja shook her head. “My power was diminished by the smallest amount. Not enough to cause Kuar to falter.”

“So... you suspect the White were stronger?” Vervel asked, frowning.

“I believe so,” Imenja said. “But more importantly, it was Auraya who struck Kuar down. There was no lessening of strength in the others’ attack. She must have been the one with extra strength in reserve.”

The others exchanged glances.

“Does that mean she is more powerful than a First Voice?” Shar asked.

“It’s possible.”

“So maybe Nekaun can’t kill Auraya.”

“Not without help.”

“And he doesn’t realize this.”

Imenja shrugged. “I have tried to tell him.”

Vervel sighed and rolled his eyes.

“So how does Mirar affect all this?”

Imenja smiled crookedly. “It depends on how much Auraya wants him dead. I doubt she’d join us in exchange, but she might stay here longer if that meant he was killed.”

“You don’t think Nekaun will try to recruit Mirar?” Shar asked.

“I think Mirar knows his future in Southern Ithania depends on coming to an understanding with us, but I doubt he would make an effective ally in war, since Dreamweavers do not kill. He will not balance the advantage the Circlians have over us with Auraya on their side.”

“Unless we kill Auraya,” Shar said.

Imenja smiled grimly. “That is true.”

“Should we keep Auraya and Mirar apart?” Vervel asked.

Imenja considered. “Not unless Nekaun decides we must. I would like to observe them when they first meet.”

Vervel chuckled. “I think we all would. It should be very interesting.”

“Then we shall have to see what we can arrange.” Imenja straightened in her chair. “Are there any other questions? Matters to discuss?”

As one of the Voices began talking about a feud between merchants in the city, Reivan let her mind drift away.

I wonder if Auraya knows Nekaun has no intention of letting her leave? I wonder if she knows she is stronger than Nekaun, and is gambling on him trying to kill her without the other Voices’ help. Her heart started to race as a terrible possibility occurred to her.

She’ll kill him! He won’t listen to Imenja, so he has no idea of the danger he’s in. I have to warn him!

It was a long time before her heart stopped pounding and she could hear the discussion again. Then she only wanted the Voices to finish, even though she knew she could not rush to Nekaun and deliver her warning. Not while Auraya was with him, able to read Reivan’s mind.

This is going to be a very long day.

It had taken several hours for Emerahl to move the rubble and dirt to the sides of the crevice. She could have worked faster, but she did not want to risk that the vibration of shifting large amounts of rubble might dislodge the slab of wall wedged so precariously above her. Though the barrier she kept above herself at all times should be strong enough to protect her, she did not relish the thought of being buried alive.

She was also wary of breaking anything she uncovered. Using magic, she first blew dirt and dust aside, then she lifted away the rubble and boulders she had uncovered until she had to stop and blow away more dirt.

A channel now stretched from where the handholds met the rubble to the far wall. Temples tended to be symmetrical in design so if anything lay buried here it was probably in line with the handholds and the passage above it.

The writing on the bones was never far from her thoughts. If only a mortal might take the Scroll, then something must prevent an immortal. Whatever that was, it must be powerful. And dangerous.

Pausing to rest earlier, she had lifted her light higher to examine the slab of wall above her and discovered something else. She could see beyond it in one corner. What remained of the roof was covered in cracks. Unlike the cracks in the passage that ran in the same direction as the crevice, these cracks formed radiating patterns. At the center of one was a small crater.

Emerahl was sure they were impacts from some magical attack. There were none on the walls, however. Whoever had made them had attacked the roof specifically, perhaps in order to cause the collapse which had filled the crevice’s floor.

As she blew aside more dirt a smooth stone surface appeared. She shifted away more rubble and uncovered what might be a domed roof.

“You’ve found it!” Yathyir exclaimed.

“Looks like it,” Emerahl agreed.

“I’ll tell the others.”

She opened her mouth to tell him to wait, but decided against it. It wouldn’t hurt for the Thinkers to watch her finish uncovering this and know the care she had taken. Not that Barmonia would ever acknowledge it.

As she continued lifting away rubble, more of the dome appeared. Soon footsteps echoed in the hall. She turned to watch as the five Thinkers climbed down the wall.

Barmonia picked his way over to her, looked down at the dome and scowled.

“Yathyir was probably a bit premature,” she said, shrugging.

He looked at her, eyebrows arching, then turned on his heel.

“Continue,” he ordered.

She rolled her eyes. Turning back to the hole she had made, she resumed shifting dirt and rubble. The dome was large, so she concentrated on removing the debris on one side. An edge appeared. She cleared more and uncovered a wall. Finally the top of an arch appeared. Remnants of a wooden door still hung from a hinge and rubble had tumbled into the structure.

“Halt!” Barmonia barked.

She stopped. He climbed down to the opening and thrust his torch inside. Interior walls were illuminated. He climbed back out again.

“Continue.”

Suppressing a sigh, she cleared the opening. When the entrance was uncovered, Barmonia barked at her to stop again. He moved past her and looked inside, then turned back.

“We’ll do the rest by hand.”

The other Thinkers followed him in. Ray paused beside her. He glanced up at the steep slope of rubble on either side.

“Your hard work is appreciated, Emmea,” he murmured.

She smiled. By you or your secret benefactor?

He looked up. “It’s unnerving. This crevice and the cracks in the passage run the same direction as the escarpment. I can’t help thinking the city is slowly falling down into the lowlands.”

Emerahl looked at him in surprise, realizing he was probably right. If he’s right, this is a silly place to hide a treasure. But to be fair, the priest of Sorli probably didn’t know this was going to happen.

Ray moved inside the building. Following him, Emerahl paused in the entrance as she saw that the Thinkers were clearing rubble away from a large stone box with their bare hands. Barmonia was grinning broadly and she could sense intense anticipation and excitement. She took a step inside...

... then stopped. A familiar feeling had come over her. Her skin prickled, but it took a few seconds for her to recognize why.

This room is a void!

A void. Here of all places. Was this part of the reason no immortal might take the scroll? With no magic, she could not protect or heal herself. But neither could a mortal.

Yathyir had paused to look at her. She forced herself to step over the fissure, all the while watchful for some trap that might spring from the walls, ceiling or floor. The thought of the slab of wall hanging above was suddenly much more discomforting.

Emerahl looked down at the box. It was the shape of a coffin. Barmonia leaned over and blew the dust from the surface, revealing glyphs.

“What does the script say, Emmea?” Ray asked.

She moved forward and traced her fingers over the carvings. “It says: ‘Even that which has no flesh may die.’ ”

“A tomb for a goddess,” Kereon said.

“Well at least this time we won’t be disturbing a corpse,” Barmonia said lightly. Bracing his hands against the edge of the box, he pushed. Nothing happened. Ray joined him and the lid slowly slid aside with a dry, scraping sound.

The men drew in a collective breath of awe and greed.

The torchlight reflected from precious metals and gems. A tangle of chains, vessels, bangles and weapons filled the box, but it was the gold object in the center that demanded attention.

A gold scroll, Emerahl thought. I suppose parchment would have rotted away.

It lay open, the “parchment” artfully curved in a way real skin would not have. The rods at either end were a twisted mess of elaborate trimming, patterns and projections, studded with gems. The runes were also decorated, some so much that the shape of them was distorted.

“It’s beautiful,” Kereon breathed.

No, it isn’t, Emerahl thought. It’s garish and overdone.

“What does it say, Emmea?” Yathyir asked.

Making herself ignore the sheer ugliness of the object, Emerahl focused on the script. She nearly groaned aloud.

“It rhymes. It’s poetry. Very bad poetry.”

“But what does it say?”

Emerahl paused to read. “It’s a history. It tells how the goddess was grieved by the deaths of other gods and... that’s interesting. It says she helped kill them, and felt a terrible guilt.” She paused to read more. “She gave her priest all the secrets of the gods. Here it says she bade him record them in an indestructible form. Then... Well!”

“What?” Barmonia demanded.

Emerahl looked up at him and smiled. “Then she killed herself. Here. In this very place. Do the gods become ghosts, I wonder.”

Yathyir looked around nervously and the others smiled.

“And the secrets?” Ray asked.

“The scroll doesn’t describe them,” she told him, frowning as she realized it was true.

The Twins are going to be disappointed, she thought, feeling an unexpected bitterness. And I’ve put up with the Thinkers for nothing. At least it won’t matter if Ray destroys the scroll. It’s worth only what money the gold would fetch if it were melted down.

“Let’s take all this out,” Barmonia said. Everyone fell silent as he bent to pick up the scroll. He grunted as he lifted it.

“It’s heavy,” he said. “Yathyir?”

The young man’s eyes widened and he held out his hands for the scroll. “Yes?”

“Not this, you idiot,” Barmonia growled. “Climb back up and bring us something to carry it all in. Packs would be best. Empty packs.”

As Yathyir obediently hurried out of the building, Emerahl followed him. She stepped outside and breathed a sigh of relief as magic surrounded her. Nothing bad had happened to her. Perhaps whatever trap had been set for immortals had long ago deteriorated.

“Emmea?” Ray called.

She turned to see him staring at the remnants of the wooden door, still half buried.

“What is it?” she asked.

He pointed at the door. “What does this say?”

Forcing herself to step back inside, she turned to the door and saw that large glyphs had been carved into the surface. She felt a chill.

“It says: ‘Beware, immortals,’ ” she told him. “There’s more.”

He cleared away more of the rubble, revealing the rest of the message.

“Beware, immortals. No magic lies within. Enter and know your true age.”

She felt a smile tugging at her lips. No magic. A void. Whoever had carved this had believed immortals couldn’t exist within voids. They probably imagined that, without magic to sustain them, immortals would revert to their true age.

That would be an impressive, though ghoulish, sight. She turned away so Ray would not see her smile. It’s nice to know gods and their priests don’t always know everything.

But still, she longed to get out of this place and into the sunlight, and away from these selfish, arrogant men. Tonight she would dictate as much of the poem as she could remember to The Twins. Tomorrow... tomorrow she would congratulate the Thinkers and start the long journey back to familiar lands.

31

Danjin stared at the cover of the platten and slowly realized he was awake. The two men opposite him were conscious but their attention was elsewhere. Gillen looked more alert than he had for any of the journey so far, rubbing his hands together in excitement and anticipation, while Yem was even more subdued than usual. The warrior had worn a constant frown since they’d left the fort and Danjin suspected he was caught between sympathy for the servants that had escaped oppressive clan rule and outrage that the Pentadrians had subverted them.

Danjin looked at Ella. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was slow.

Ultimately I have to trust her and the wisdom of the gods. If this tough stance on associating with Pentadrians wasn’t needed we wouldn’t be ambushing a village with the help of the local warriors.

The platten slowed. Ella moved abruptly to open the flap of the cover.

“We’re here.”

Danjin felt his stomach sink, but said nothing. He heard the sounds of doors slamming and distant shouts. Angry and frightened voices surrounded the platten as it slowed to a stop.

Ella smoothed her circ, then looked at Yem, Gillen and Danjin.

“Stay close,” she said, then pulled the flap wide and stepped out.

Danjin followed, then Yem and Gillen. Men and women milled around the platten. When they saw Ella their eyes widened and they quietened. A few faces betrayed dismay and alarm. Others showed amazement and curiosity.

Looking along the street, Danjin saw warriors ushering people toward the growing crowd. Men, women and children emerged from houses, some dressed in their nightclothes. From another direction came a large group of locals. From the sweat on their brows Danjin guessed they had been gathered from homes and farms further from the village center.

As the crowd swelled, Danjin looked closely at the people. In the torchlight the physical characteristics that marked them as Dunwayan or Southern Ithanian were heightened. Pentadrians varied from pale to dark-skinned, and their builds could be as varied, so it was easier to identify them simply as those that didn’t look Dunwayan. He judged the crowd to be a quarter Pentadrian.

A group of Dunwayan warriors, their faces almost black from tattooing, surrounded the villagers. The gray-haired clan leader, Gret, stepped forward. He made the sign of the circle.

“We have brought the occupants of all of the local farms and homes,” he told her. “Some may have evaded us.”

Ella nodded. “Who leads this community?” she asked, her voice ringing out above the noise of the crowd.

A discussion followed. Danjin made out enough to understand that an elder of the village spoke for the village when dealing with the local clan. The man came forward.

“Who leads the Pentadrian community?” she demanded of him.

He hesitated, but Ella had already turned away from him.

“Servant Warwel, come forward.”

Silence followed. People exchanged nervous glances. Ella’s eyes moved over them and stopped.

“You can walk, Servant Warwel,” Ella said warningly, “or be dragged. It is your choice.”

A man moved forward. He was tall and walked with dignity. His expression was grim and resigned. He stopped a few steps from Ella and returned her stare silently.

“People of Dram, you have been deceived. This man and those of his ship were sent here by the leader of the Pentadrians, Nekaun,” Ella said, turning to meet the eyes of the village elder. “Their ship was not wrecked accidentally. It was wrecked deliberately so that they might gain the sympathy of Dunwayans. They were then to settle here and befriend as many Dunwayans as possible in order to convert them to their own religion.”

She looked out over the crowd. “They have succeeded far too easily. I see many here who have been corrupted by their influence. I also see many who were then lured out of service to their clans with promises of freedom. Clans whose warriors had fought for them but a few years ago. Fought those who invaded our lands in order to enslave us.” A murmur of protest rose, but Ella raised her voice. “They may have used gentler methods this time, but do not doubt that their intention is the same. This is - was - just another invasion. They came here to separate you from the Circle of Gods, abusing your generosity and preying upon your weaknesses in order to do so.”

She paused to scan the crowd silently for a moment. “It is a pity you all allowed this to go as far as it has. I see some here who did not allow themselves to be corrupted, but who remained silent out of fear or greed. I see very few here who were powerless to protest or act and I will speak in their defense. As for the rest of you: it is up to I-Portak to decide what is to be done with you, Pentadrian and Dunwayan alike.”

Turning to Gret, Ella nodded. “They are yours to deal with.”

The clan leader barked out orders and warriors began to move people along the road out of the village. Danjin noted that the old warrior was making a good show of following Ella’s orders with distaste. Every time a crying child was herded past, Gret looked at Ella pointedly. She ignored him, her expression stern and disapproving.

“Where are you taking us?” someone called.

“To Chon,” a warrior replied.

“Let us go back to our homes for clothes,” one woman begged of a warrior. “We’ll freeze to death like this.”

“My cures,” an old man croaked. “I won’t make it without my cures.”

“What will we eat?”

“My mother is sick. She’ll never make it to Chon.”

Gret turned to one of his companions. “Get someone to take the woman and the old man back to their homes.”

At once several other voices rose pleading for the same opportunity.

“No,” Ella said. “Take a few and the rest will demand the same. Keep the prisoners here and send a few warriors to the houses to gather blankets, food and clothing for all.”

Gret’s eyebrows rose, then he nodded at his companion. “Do it.”

Danjin felt a chill run down his spine. Surely a delay now would be better than deaths along the road...

Ella turned to Danjin. “Find out what the old man needs and fetch it,” she murmured.

“Yes, Ellareen of the White,” he replied.

He hurried away and started looking for the old man. Circling around the crowd, he looked back to where Ella stood. She held her head high and was staring loftily down her nose at her prisoners. He felt his stomach sink a little.

She’s only doing that in order to intimidate them into obedience, he told himself.

But they will remember it. They will tell others how cold and uncaring Ellareen the White is. How cruel and inflexible the White’s justice was.

He shook his head. She has to do this. She can’t override Dunwayan law. And if she was without pity she wouldn’t have sent me to find the old man’s cures.

Then why did he feel as if he wasn’t watching an act? Why did he suspect that Ellareen hadn’t tried to persuade the Dunwayans to treat the village with some sympathy because she didn’t want to?

Why did she disturb him sometimes?

Sighing, he turned away, found the old man and pulled him aside to question him.

The Sanctuary was not as impressive as the Temple in Jarime. There was no huge White Tower or Dome looming over all, just a wide stairway and a single-story façade of welcoming arches, then a jumble of buildings rising up the hillside behind.

Perhaps that’s the idea, Mirar mused. They don’t want to intimidate visitors; they want them to feel welcome.

The winds had not taken them as far as Genza had hoped, so they had had to travel the rest of the way in a platten. The litter that he and Genza had ridden in from the ferry port stopped and the carriers lowered it to the ground. As Genza rose, Mirar followed suit. She smiled.

“Welcome to Sanctuary, Mirar of the Dreamweavers.”

“Thank you.”

Gesturing for him to follow, she started up the stairs. They passed through one of the archways into a wide, airy hall full of black-robed Servants and ordinary people.

“This is where we greet all visitors to the Sanctuary,” Genza told him. “Servants listen to all, from the lowest beggar to the wealthy and powerful, and direct them to whoever can best meet their needs.”

Mirar noted that some of the visitors were talking boldly and confidently to the Servants. Others were tentative, waiting nervously to be approached or keeping their gaze lowered as they talked. Sensing distress, Mirar found a Servant patting the shoulder of a crying woman.

“Do you think you could find my daughter?” he heard the woman ask.

“We can only try,” the Servant replied. “Are you sure her father took her?”

“Yes. No... I...”

A laugh drew his attention to a richly dressed man crossing the hall in the company of a male Servant.

“... like to present gifts to the Elai as well. After all, they sank the ships that were...”

Elai sinking ships? He resisted the urge to look back at the man.

“This is the main courtyard,” Genza said. “From here passages lead to all areas of the Sanctuary.”

The courtyard was fringed by a veranda. He made appreciative comments as she pointed out the fountain and told him that it both helped cool the air and the noise made discussions more private. As they continued deeper into the Sanctuary he noted how the Servants paused to watch her, tracing a sign over their chest if she happened to look their way. He sensed admiration and respect - even adoration - from them.

He also sensed curiosity directed toward himself and wondered how much they knew about him. Were they curious because Dreamweavers weren’t often seen in the Sanctuary? Did they wonder if he was the legendary, immortal founder of the Dreamweavers, or did they already know who he was, having been told Genza was bringing him here?

Genza guided him along corridors and through courtyards, climbing ever upward. Occasionally he glimpsed the city from a window or balcony, and each time the view was more impressive. As they continued further into the Sanctuary Mirar felt a nagging uneasiness.

I’m completely at a disadvantage here, he mused. The Voices may be more powerful than me. Even if not individually, they would be if united. They’re surrounded by hundreds, maybe thousands, of mortal sorcerers willing to do their bidding.

I expected that. What I didn’t expect was that this place would be such a maze. Without Genza I’d be completely lost.

Yet he did not feel in danger here. The noises of the city were distant, he sensed no threatening emotions from the Servants he passed, and the sprawling design of the Sanctuary, with its many courtyards and corridors open to the air, suggested a place of relaxation and tranquillity. Still, this was also a place of political and magical strength, and he did not let the subtle magical barrier about himself fall.

At last Genza stepped out of a corridor onto a long, wide balcony occupied by several men and women sitting in reed chairs. All looked up at him, their gazes bright with interest.

“This is Mirar, leader of the Dreamweavers,” Genza told them. She glanced at him. “Dreamweaver Mirar, this is Second Voice Imenja.”

The woman she gestured to was tall and slim. It was hard to guess her physical age.

This was the one who faltered during the last war, allowing Auraya to kill Kuar, he thought.

She smiled politely. “I am pleased to meet you at last. Genza has found much to praise about you.”

Mirar inclined his head. “A pleasure to meet you, too, Second Voice.”

“This is Third Voice Vervel,” Genza continued, waving at a man with a robust build.

I remember him from the war, but I know nothing about him. I’ll have to fix that.

“This is Fifth Voice Shar.”

The slim, handsome young man with the blond hair smiled, and Mirar nodded in reply.

He’s the one who breeds the vorn. The one the southern Dreamweavers say can be cruel.

Genza then introduced the others. They were “Companions” and their roles were as assistants and advisers to the Voices. The Twins and Auraya had already told him about them.

“Join us, Dreamweaver Mirar,” Second Voice Imenja invited, gesturing to an empty chair.

Mirar sat down and accepted a glass of water from one of the Companions.

“We have been discussing, of all things, war,” Imenja told him.

“Any particular war?” he asked.

She shook her head. “All wars. Warfare as a subject. Dreamweavers do not fight wars, do they?”

“No. We acknowledge the need for a person or country to defend themselves, but our vow to never do harm prevents us from fighting ourselves.”

“So you don’t approve of our invasion of Northern Ithania, but would approve of us defending ourselves if we were invaded?” Imenja asked.

He nodded.

“Yet your people don’t help in the defense of their country.”

“We do only by healing the wounded.”

“You heal the wounded of both sides.”

“Yes. My people honor their vows to heal all those in need as much as their loyalty to their homeland, knowing that Dreamweavers everywhere would do the same.”

“I see.”

“Surely this causes conflicts between Dreamweavers and the people of their land?” the woman’s Companion asked. “Don’t people resent Dreamweavers for helping the enemy?”

“Of course.” Mirar smiled. “As often as someone may be grateful to a Dreamweaver of their enemy’s land for saving one of their own.”

“The White and Circlians have caused your people great harm,” Vervel said. “Would your people fight them?”

Mirar shook his head. “No.”

“Not to escape oppression? Not for the freedom to follow your own ways?”

“Not even if we thought either was possible. We might kill all of the White, but the gods would soon find replacements.”

“So you believe the Circlian gods are real?” Imenja asked.

Mirar smiled ruefully. “I know it. A reliable source of mine assures me yours are too.”

The Voices looked at each other, each glance swift and meaningful.

“If we defeated the White,” Vervel said. “If all Circlians became Pentadrians, the Circlian gods would not find anyone willing to take the place of the White.”

“Ah, if only that were true!” Mirar sighed. “Unfortunately it would require every single Circlian to willingly reject their gods and convert to yours.”

“They might, in time,” Shar said. “Of course, there would be followers of the Circle meeting in secret, rebels and such. We would have to hunt them down and—”

“The point is, with us in control, your people would be free to live as they pleased,” Vervel interrupted. “Surely that is worth bending a few rules for?”

Mirar shook his head. “The trouble is, it is not some minor rule, but our primary law and principle.”

“But they tried to kill you,” Genza reminded him.

Mirar met the woman’s gaze. “And your people arranged for Dreamweavers in Jarime to be murdered so that Priests would be blamed.”

Genza’s eyes narrowed slightly, then she turned to look at Imenja.

“I guess we are lucky that your people don’t take sides,” Imenja said quietly. “Rest assured that not all of us were in favor of that sordid little scheme.” He noticed that the woman’s Companion was staring at her mistress, radiating suspicion and horror. “We do not intend to repeat that mistake. However, I’m sure the White would attempt to kill you again, if they could.”

Mirar laughed darkly. “I know. They’ve already tried.”

Imenja’s eyes brightened with interest. “Recently? Is that why you came to Southern Ithania?”

“Yes. And now I find the very woman they sent to execute me is here, being treated as an honored guest.”

He noted which faces betrayed surprise and which did not. Imenja was smiling.

“You know Auraya’s here?” Genza asked. “And you still came?”

Mirar shrugged. “Of course I know. The city is full of gossip - and Dreamweavers.”

Imenja chuckled. “And Nekaun has hardly kept her a secret.” She looked at Mirar and sobered. “You’re in no danger. We will not allow her to harm you. And it seems we need not fear you will harm her.” She watched him closely, probably looking for signs that he might make an exception to his rule against violence. “In a week she will be gone.”

Mirar nodded.

“There is no need for you two to meet. Perhaps you would prefer to avoid her,” she continued. He sensed disappointment from the Companions and resisted a smile. Clearly they were curious to see what might happen if he and Auraya encountered one another.

As am I, he thought. To know she is this close and not see her once... Surely there would be no harm in meeting.

“I don’t care,” he said. “In fact, it would be satisfying to let her see me, alive and well treated by her enemy.”

Imenja chuckled again. “That, too, can be arranged.”

32

Dreamweaver Mirar is a good-looking man, Reivan thought as she watched him and Imenja stroll toward the Sanctuary flame. Not my type, though. He looks like a northerner, and there’s something else...

He reminded her of a Thinker she had once been infatuated with as a young woman. The Thinker he reminded her of had appeared at a meeting one day and charmed everybody. A few months later he vanished. In the following years he arrived and left unannounced numerous times. Every time he visited Glymma he found himself a different pretty girl, then discarded her. Reivan had felt jealous at first, then sympathy for the girls who had been promised so much but were left broken-hearted, sometimes burdened with an occupied womb.

Mirar had a confidence about him that drew people, and it was this that reminded her of the Thinker. He had the same restlessness in his gaze, as if he were always planning his next destination. Yet while the Thinker had moved whenever there was something to escape, she imagined Mirar simply drifted about, observing whatever he encountered, then drifted on.

He doesn’t hurry, she thought suddenly. That’s the difference. And why would he, when he’s immortal?

That was what most fascinated her. The Voices were immortal because the gods wanted them to be. Mirar had somehow achieved it without help. She itched to ask him how, even though she doubted she would understand the answer.

He and Imenja had been standing before the Sanctuary flame. Now they turned and walked back toward Reivan.

“... ever blown out?”

“A few times. We haven’t hidden the fact. People can be superstitious about such matters. They might think that if the flame went out the world would end, or something equally ridiculous, if we didn’t tell them it happens occasionally. As it is, they still try to find some significance to the few occurrences they know of.”

Mirar chuckled. “I imagine they do.” He looked up. “Is that a Siyee?”

Following his gaze, Reivan saw a winged figure circling upward.

“Yes,” Imenja said. “One of the group we are holding prisoner. They attacked one of our villages. Nekaun is letting them go, one by one, in exchange for Auraya staying here.”

Mirar nodded. “I heard about that. It is wise, letting them go separately. They can’t easily band together and attack again.”

“Yes.”

“You must be treating them well,” he added. “Or by now they would not be able to fly. Are you giving them supplies to get them home?”

“They can’t carry enough to last all the way to Si, unfortunately, but what we give them should sustain them until they reach Sennon.”

Imenja ushered him to the staircase that led down from the Sanctuary flame into the buildings below. Following them, Reivan heard voices coming from somewhere ahead in the corridor. Mirar and Imenja turned a corner and stopped. As she reached them, Reivan recognized the voices and a shiver ran over her skin. She looked at Mirar. His mouth was set in a smile. His eyes were bright - perhaps with fear, perhaps amusement.

Reivan looked at the object of his attention. Auraya stared back at Mirar through narrowed eyes. She stood very still, as if frozen. Nekaun gave Imenja a very direct look, then turned to Auraya and opened his mouth to speak - but he did not get a chance.

“Mirar,” Auraya said, her voice full of contempt. “I see you’ve arrived.”

“I have,” he replied, glancing at Imenja. “And received a warm reception.”

“I would expect nothing less of our hosts.”

Auraya’s gaze was intense, but Mirar did not flinch.

“I would have expected otherwise based on the rude reception I received in the north,” Mirar said airily. “But then I thought ‘it has to be better in the south, because it could hardly be worse.’ ”

Auraya smiled. “They just haven’t got to know you yet.”

Mirar’s smile faded slightly, and a small crease appeared between his brows.

“How are the Siyee faring these days?”

“Well,” Auraya said shortly.

“The White finding them useful allies?”

“Of course.”

“I hear their latest mission failed.”

“I’m afraid that’s old news here.”

“Yes,” Mirar agreed. “I suppose I have the White to thank for this opportunity to meet you again - under much more enjoyable circumstances, too.” He looked at Imenja. “I hope there will be time for us to converse again, before you leave. Perhaps over dinner?”

“It can be arranged,” Imenja replied mildly.

“Perhaps a quiet, private dinner,” Auraya said, her eyes gleaming. “Just the two of us. We could resume our previous conversation. Pick up again from where we stopped.”

“I’m sure my new friends would like the opportunity to join in,” Mirar replied. “Especially when you are leaving so soon. They have first claim on you, since your time here is finite and mine is not.”

Nekaun chuckled. “Dreamweaver Mirar is right. We still have much to show you, and your time here is fast dwindling.” He looked at Imenja. “Perhaps we can all meet at dinner tonight.”

“I’ll see to it,” she replied.

“Now, I have another trip outside the city to take you on.” Nekaun touched Auraya’s shoulder lightly and she tore her eyes from Mirar’s smug expression to look at the First Voice. “It will take half of the day to get there, so we should leave without delay.”

Mirar watched Auraya leave, his eyes narrowed, but as Imenja turned to him he looked at her and smiled broadly. She nodded at a corridor leading in another direction. “Would you like to see the Star Room, where we hold our ceremonies?”

He nodded. “Sounds fascinating.”

As they set off at a leisurely stroll, Reivan analyzed the conversation between Mirar and Auraya.

“I would have expected otherwise based on the rude reception I received in the north.”

“They just haven’t got to know you yet.”

Auraya won that exchange, Reivan mused. The former White had insinuated that Mirar made himself unwelcome wherever he went. She might have a point.

Mirar had made a veiled jibe about the White sending the Siyee on a doomed mission, but Auraya hadn’t appeared ruffled. Then Mirar had taunted her, pointing out that she could do nothing to him here.

“... Just the two of us. Pick up again from where we stopped.”

Reivan caught the chuckle that welled up inside her. Auraya won that exchange, too, she thought. She all but pointed out that his safety depended on us, and that she was willing to kill him if the Voices gave her the chance. But Mirar had the last word, I think. What did he say again?

“I’m sure my new friends would like the opportunity to join in... your time here is finite and mine is not.”

She frowned. Had Mirar guessed that the Voices didn’t intend to let Auraya leave? Or was he merely pointing out that the Voices had more reason to protect him than her, since he was immortal and would be a more useful ally in the long term?

He’s smart enough to have guessed the Voices’ plans, Reivan decided. Anyone who thought the situation through carefully could have.

But had Auraya?

Mischief leapt up onto the mattress. He spent a few minutes roaming about, assessing the best position to sleep according to merits only he understood. When he found a satisfactory place, he curled up and sighed.

Staring at the ceiling, Auraya considered what she had reported to Juran that evening. Or rather, what she hadn’t reported.

:Mirar is here, she had told him. We encountered each other in one of those accidental crossing of paths that obviously wasn’t accidental.

:What happened?

:Nothing. He pointed out that the Voices would protect him and that the Siyee mission was doomed.

:I fear he is right on both counts.

She hadn’t told Juran about her and Mirar’s agreement to act as if they were enemies. It would make it obvious that she didn’t consider Mirar an enemy, and that would hardly please Juran. She didn’t want to give him any further reason to distrust her.

Now she had the last task of the evening left. Each night since she had first dream-linked with Mirar they had communicated the same way. Tonight they would have much to discuss. Closing her eyes, she sought the state of mind she needed.

:Auraya.

It took her a moment to realize she must have fallen asleep straightaway.

:Mirar?

:At last! How late do you turn in?

She felt amusement at his impatience.

:As late as I wish.

:Ah. It’s like that, is it? Got all haughty since the Voices started treating you as an honored guest?

:Only when I need to. Did we do well today?

:It was a start.

:Ha! I came up with the best snappy replies!

:I had the last word.

:You did, she agreed.

:So where were you tonight? I was looking forward to continuing over dinner.

:Didn’t Imenja explain? We roamed so far from the city that we couldn’t get back in time.

:Is that the truth, then?

:Yes. Of course, Nekaun and I might have spent a little longer than necessary inspecting the glassmakers’ workshops.

:Well, I suppose the Voices expect you to avoid me.

:And I’m afraid I’ll run out of snappy replies if we meet too often.

:You have a collection of them, then?

:A handful. All waiting for the right moment.

:Who’d have thought you’d have such a talent for bitchiness?

:Thanks. So have the Voices made you any offers yet?

:No. They questioned me about the Dreamweaver law against violence the day I arrived. Maybe my answer put them off.

:Hmm. Remember, even if they don’t offer to kill me for you, they might still offer to kill you for me.

:Then they’re being remarkably good at hiding it. We’ve been talking a lot about the Dreamweavers and my place among them. Whether I am a leader or guide. Imenja said that whether I want to be their leader or not, Dreamweavers regard me with reverence. The trouble with being dead for a while is people have a gilded image of you in their minds. I assured her that I never let them worship me before, and I will not now. She said she believed me.

He had turned serious, and Auraya had a disturbing feeling she was talking to Leiard. She pushed it away.

:I suppose she read the minds of Dreamweavers in order to find out what they think of you.

:Yes. Oh, something she said... I think they know you can read minds.

Auraya felt a chill. Was there any danger in the Voices knowing she could read minds? Jade had thought it would be dangerous for the gods to know Auraya had regained the ability, but she had meant the Circlian gods.

Still, it was possible that the Circlian gods occasionally read the minds of Pentadrians. Unless...

:Do you think only the Voices know, or others?

:I don’t know. I could search some dreams tonight and see if I can find out for you.

:Yes. I’ll do a bit of mind-skimming, too. There might be someone still awake.

:When you do, look for any thoughts about the Elai. I overheard a comment when I arrived suggesting that they were sinking ships.

:Sinking ships? That is an alarming possibility.

:Yes. Now, we both have much to do, and the night isn’t getting any longer.

:No. Good night.

:Good night.

:Mirar?

:Yes?

She paused, suddenly worried that what she had been about to say would give him a false impression. After a moment, she decided it wouldn’t.

:Thank you for your help.

:Don’t thank me yet. Not until the last Siyee is free and you escape this place. When the last Siyee flies be prepared for betrayal, Auraya, he warned. I don’t think the Voices intend to let you go.

As he broke the link she floated in an uneasy dream state, thinking about his warning. If I was in Nekaun’s place, I wouldn’t let me go either. I’m going to have to give him a reason to let me go. She was too tired to consider that now, and she still had mind-skimming to do. Concentrating, she sent her mind out into the world.

Moving from mind to mind, she skimmed the thoughts of the Servants and domestics still awake in the Sanctuary. When she encountered the mind of a Voice’s Companion she felt a thrill of satisfaction. The woman, Reivan, was restless and unable to sleep and her thoughts revolved around First Voice Nekaun.

It’s been so long, Reivan thought. Surely he could have found the time to visit me once. How am I going to warn him about Imenja’s suspicions? I can’t go near him in case Auraya reads my mind.

Auraya’s stomach sank. That confirmed what Mirar had told her. Her mind-reading ability had been detected.

But then, why would he listen to me if he won’t listen to Imenja. No, I can only hope he doesn’t underestimate Auraya. He’ll come back to me once he’s killed her, Reivan told herself.

Auraya felt a shock. Somehow it was more chilling to hear Nekaun’s intentions stated so clearly in the woman’s mind. But she also sensed doubt. Companion Reivan knew the other Voices believed Nekaun would kill her, but they didn’t know for sure. He was secretive. He kept his plans from them. Then Auraya saw the woman’s greatest fear, lurking constantly at the edge of her mind. The other Voices believed Auraya was more powerful than Nekaun. Reivan worried that if he attempted to kill Auraya, he would do so alone. She feared he would fail.

Interesting, Auraya mused. I wonder if they are right. And it is odd that Nekaun keeps himself separate from the other Voices. It’s a weakness that could be exploited.

The Companion was drifting off to sleep now. If she knew anything about the Elai, she wasn’t going to be thinking about it any time soon. Her thoughts were full of Nekaun. Auraya moved on, seeking other minds.

She would not abandon the remaining Siyee imprisoned here, but when the last of them flew, she would be ready to defend herself against Nekaun.

33

Have you made a copy of this scroll? Tamun asked Emerahl as soon as The Twins dream-linked with her.

:I’m trying to, Emerahl replied. The only reason Barmonia lets me see it is because I can translate for him. He won’t let me write it down for him. He won’t even let me take notes. I’ve had to memorize what I can and write it down secretly.

:What form are you writing it down in? Tamun asked.

:I’ve burned it onto the inside of my water skin. They’ll never find it there.

:In what language?

:Hanian, so they won’t know what I wrote if they do find it.

:You must use the original glyphs! The smallest mis-translation can change the meaning of a phrase!

:She won’t mistranslate, Surim injected.

:Thank you, Emerahl said, pleased at his defense of her.

:She might not realize she has, Tamun countered. We can’t take any risks. In the old priest tongue words often had two meanings.

If Emerahl had been awake she would have sighed. Tamun hadn’t taken well to the news that the scroll was useless. She refused to believe it, saying the poem must be a code.

:Very well. I’ll copy the glyphs somehow. But what then? It’s just a history. There are no directions to these secrets about the gods.

:No? Tamun’s amusement rippled over Emerahl’s mind. What you have recited bears some obvious clues.

:Obvious?

:The secrets were preserved in an indestructible form. What is indestructible?

:Nothing.

:Gold, Surim said. Or so a smith once told me. It can be melted and mixed with other metals, but alone it never rusts or deteriorates.

:If the secrets are recorded in gold, and gold can be melted, then the secrets can be destroyed, Tamun pointed out.

:Then it must be something so hard and solid it can’t be broken.

:Diamond? Emerahl suggested. Her mind shifted to the treasures found in the coffin. There had been plenty of precious stones among the jewellery and trinkets.

:A diamond can be cut by another diamond, Tamun said. That makes it as fragile as gold.

:What else is there? Surim asked.

The Twins fell silent as they considered. Emerahl’s mind kept returning to the jewellery and trinkets. If the secrets were preserved on a diamond it would be a clever trick to hide it among the treasure.

Though there couldn’t be many secrets if they were carved into a diamond. Some of the gems in the collection were impressively large, but there was little room for more than a few words on them.

:It would be easier if you just stole it and brought it to us.

:I’m not stealing that great hunk of gold! Even if it wasn’t a big ugly piece of dung too heavy to carry, we know Pentadrian Servants want it. I could have half the Servants of Southern Ithania on my tail all the way to the coast, and I might not be able to find a ship to—

:Emerahl. Wake up. Something has happened. The traitor has—

Suddenly Emerahl was aware of a voice. Barmonia’s voice. He was shouting. At once she slipped from the dream and into full consciousness.

“... stinking whore of a thief! I’ll rip your guts out with my bare hands and feed them...!”

Getting up, she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and hurried out of her tent. The shouting came from the direction of the arem and domestics. Barmonia’s words echoed in the still night. Kereon and Yathyir stood beside the fire, Kereon scowling and Yathyir looking wide-eyed with fright. The older man looked at Emerahl, then nodded toward Barmonia’s tent.

The front flap was open and they could see the mess inside. A battered, misshapen item lay on the floor: the Scroll.

“Smashed,” he said.

Emerahl did some silent cursing of her own. Barmonia had been so protective of the Scroll, insisting he be present whenever anyone studied it, she had assumed it would be safe enough.

I am a fool! she thought. The Twins are going to be furious.

The shouting stopped, then two figures emerged from the darkness. Mikmer and Barmonia were arguing.

“... miss him in the darkness. When the sun rises we can track him,” Mikmer said.

“He’ll hide his tracks once he knows we’re hot on his tail. I’m going after that slut-raised, traitorous...”

Barmonia froze as he noticed Emerahl, then closed his mouth. She tried not to show her amusement at this.

“What happened?” Yathyir asked in a small, frightened voice.

Barmonia scowled. “Ray smashed the scroll. The domestics say he took an arem and left.”

“When?”

“Not long ago.”

Only minutes ago, Emerahl realized. Ray must have decided to do this while The Twins and I were discussing the Scroll. If he’d planned it before now, they would have known.

“Was he carrying anything?” Kereon asked.

“A pack and a large bag,” Mikmer replied. He frowned as Barmonia hurried into his tent. “Why?”

A roar came from the leader’s tent. Barmonia emerged, his face dark with anger. “He took the treasure.”

A cold chill ran over Emerahl’s skin. If I’m right, and the secrets are on a diamond somewhere in the treasure...

It did not surprise her that Ray had stolen the treasure. He’d need money, since his membership as a Thinker would end once the news got about that he’d betrayed them. What didn’t make sense was that he had smashed the Scroll. He was supposed to steal it.

Had he worked out that the secret was in the treasure?

The Scroll wasn’t going anywhere. If the Thinkers could restore it, they would. She didn’t need to wait around for them to do it.

What matters is retrieving the treasure.

“We can’t wait until morning,” Barmonia growled.

“We should split up, take a few domestics each, and go in different directions,” Kereon advised.

Mikmer sighed, then nodded. “I’ll go north. Someone should stay here and guard what’s left of the Scroll.”

Barmonia looked thoughtful. “No point in sending Yathyir. I had better stay.” He looked at Kereon and Mikmer. “Bring him back here. I’ll deal with him.”

The two men nodded, then hurried away. Emerahl heard them barking orders at the domestics.

“I could go too,” she offered.

Barmonia gave her a hard, suspicious stare.

“No. He could be dangerous.”

She smiled faintly. “I doubt it.”

“No. I need you here.”

“I’ve translated the Scroll,” she argued. “What else is there for me to do?”

“Stay where I can see you,” he snapped. “To be honest, I don’t trust you.”

She shrugged. “Fair enough. I’ll go back to bed, then.”

“Stay by the fire,” he ordered.

She hesitated, tempted to just leave. He couldn’t stop her. But there might still be something significant about the Scroll. She might need to remain on good terms with him.

Out of the darkness came a domestic. He reported that a light had been seen moving down the road to the lowlands.

A light, eh? I don’t think Ray would be so foolish as to use a lamp when there’ll be plenty of light when the moon rises. More likely he tied a lamp to an arem, pointed it in the direction of the lowlands and gave it a good slap. He’ll have gone in the other direction, toward Glymma and his reward.

A little mind-skimming would confirm it.

She gave a mock sigh of exasperation and walked to the nearly burned-out fire, where she lay down on one of the mats and covered herself with her blanket.

Yathyir and Barmonia returned to their tents. She heard Barmonia muttering about the Scroll and whether he could salvage it. Soon he would be too distracted to see her slip away.

Then she would collect her pack and an arem to ride and she would set off after the traitor and his stolen goods.

Auraya drifted, alone in the dream trance. Beneath the Sanctuary two Siyee waited to be freed. In less than two days she would escape Glymma and Nekaun.

In a room somewhere closer, Mirar’s body rested while his mind skimmed the thoughts of others. She felt a wave of affection, and a wistful amusement. First, as Leiard, he had been a mentor then a lover. In Si he had been a teacher again, then an enemy. Now he was a welcome ally. A helper. A friend.

I like him, she thought, and it’s not because he reminds me of Leiard. I can’t see him, so my eyes aren’t telling me I’m talking to Leiard. Sometimes there’s a hint of Leiard in what he says through the dream-links, but mostly I am talking to someone else.

Mirar. The enemy of the gods. Auraya gave a mental shrug. So is Jade, but that didn’t stop me liking her, once I got to know her. Must I hate whoever they hate in order to be considered loyal?

They can’t make me love someone. Is it the same for hate?

It was an interesting question, but she still had much to do. She had been skimming minds every night since Mirar first suggested it. Bit by bit they had put together enough information to confirm that Pentadrian Servants had been sent to all countries of Northern Ithania to establish themselves and start converting locals. The White had managed to find and put a stop to most of the attempts, including the most successful one, in Dunway.

Now, as she sent her mind out, she reached toward the closest mind, but then stopped in surprise.

Not far away, loud voices buzzed within the magic of the world.

:... happens when you don’t consult others.

:I consulted.

:We talked about exercises and tests, not the full assembling of armies.

:Assembling a full army quickly takes practice.

The defensive voice belonged to Huan, whereas the accuser was Saru.

:It also raises expectations and—

I’ve stumbled into another of the gods’ conversations, Auraya thought. Chaia warned me that I could be detected. I should stop listening and...

:Do you really think he’ll believe such a feeble excuse? This was an older male voice. Lore. Auraya hesitated, amazed that gods other than Chaia had confronted Huan. The Circlians are now wondering if we know what we’re doing.

:Which is hardly my doing, Huan said. I didn’t give the order for the armies to stand down.

:What were you intending them to do, if not finish their “exercise” and go home?

The question was from Chaia. Auraya felt her heart warm at the sound of his voice.

:More exercises? Huan suggested. Too bad you ordered them to stand down. They could do with a bit of training.

:Which you knew the Pentadrians would hear about, Lore said. You can’t pretend to be ignorant of the consequences.

:They would have killed Auraya, a quiet female voice said. This could only be Yranna. The balance would have been regained.

:No, it would have tipped in the favor of the Pentadrians, Lore said. They have Mirar.

:Who won’t fight, Saru reminded them.

Huan ignored him. We’ve never been in a better position to be rid of him, too, she pointed out.

:If all that worries you is balance, we can order Auraya to stay out of any battles.

:And she would obey, if the Circlians were losing?

Though the gods now began arguing about whether she was to be trusted or not, Auraya found herself puzzling over Huan’s claim that Mirar was in a good position for them to get rid of him. How could he be, when he was within the Pentadrians’ center of power? Perhaps there was an assassin here in the hire of the White. How had he or she managed to avoid detection by the Voices? Or were they unaware who their employer was?

:Auraya isn’t the reason the Circlians will go to war, Huan boomed suddenly.

Go to war? Auraya suddenly regretted becoming distracted. Were the Circlians actually going to attack the Pentadrians, or were the gods simply speaking in terms of possibilities?

:They won’t go to war, Lore replied. A few Pentadrian plots to convert Circlians aren’t enough reason to invade another continent.

Auraya felt relief.

:The White would only go to war if we ordered it, Saru agreed.

:So? Yranna said quietly.

:It’s not right to interfere, Lore said firmly. They must come to the decision themselves.

:I don’t see why we can’t nudge them, Saru said. Last time it was a mortal’s decision, why not ours this time?

:I will only agree to it if Auraya is not involved, Chaia said.

:You fool, Huan said, her voice seething with anger and contempt. You would have us return to the old days, when the world was crowded with gods and none of us could do anything without others spying upon us.

Spying... Remembering Chaia’s warning, Auraya reluctantly moved away from the gods as they began to argue again.

:... going to tell her...

:Once you have, which... kill?

:I don’t...

As their voices faded out of her hearing, she returned her awareness to her own self, and opened her eyes. Snatches of the gods’ conversation repeated in her mind. There was much to puzzle over. She listed what she had learned.

The gods want a war, they’re just not in agreement about the timing or who will be involved.

For beings that didn’t mind breaking their own laws in order to kill Mirar, they’re remarkably concerned that a war would be a fair fight between equals.

Chaia is still defending me. In fact, he seemed to offer his support for war in exchange for me being sent safely out of the way.

Mirar is not as safe here as he believes he is.

And if she warned him, would she be allying herself with the gods’ enemy?

Did she care?

Lu hadn’t felt so tired since... since after Ti had been born. Like that night, tonight she could not sleep despite her exhaustion. Back then it had been worry over Ti, who had been weak and sickly. Now she fretted for her whole family.

She turned to look at her husband, Dor. He was glowering at the night sky. His cheekbone was swollen and darkening into a bruise where he had received a blow from one of the warriors, tired of Dor’s attempts to talk his way out of this.

Might as well try to talk the stars down from the sky, she thought. Warriors and servants alike, we all follow our rules and traditions blindly. That’s what the Pentadrians said. She frowned. They said they could change Dunway, but nothing changes if the clans don’t want it to. They like things just as they are.

“It’s all their fault,” someone said nearby. Another voice murmured something in reply. Something defensive.

Whispered conversations had passed between the villagers and newcomers since the warriors had ordered them to lie down and sleep. She had listened to arguments and accusations, fears and hopes. All the while there had been the soft sound of weeping from all directions, and old Ger had begun coughing again.

“... do we believe? Her or them?” a voice said. Lu recognized it as Mez, the smith.

“She knows the truth. She’s got powers. She can read minds,” another replied. Pol, a farmer.

“She could be lying.”

“Why would she?”

“Because she don’t like outsiders interfering and making low people stronger. She got a deal with I-Portak to keep him and his warriors in charge.”

“The gods chose her,” Pol said. “I still follow the Circle.”

“This’d never have happened if we’d had our own priest,” a different voice lamented. Roi, the baker’s wife.

A short silence followed. Ger stopped coughing.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said hoarsely. “Nobody cares about us. Not the newcomers or the warriors or the White. If the newcomers cared about us they would have gone home, not got us all in trouble.”

“We were trying to make things better,” a different voice interjected. Lu recognized Noenei’s voice. Lu had admired the woman’s dignity and tranquil bearing. Now, on the road to Chon and judgment, such qualities didn’t matter.

“You shouldn’t have brought the servants here,” Roi said. “That got their attention.”

“We... we just wanted to help them.”

“Well, you didn’t. Look at us now. All of us are going to die because you didn’t know when to stop.”

Another silence followed.

“Why couldn’t you have put aside your gods for ours?” someone further away asked angrily. “Not one of you became a Circlian, but lots of us became Pentadrians. Seems to me if you wanted to be Dunwayan like you said, you would have.”

The answer came from another newcomer too far away for Lu to hear.

“Your gods aren’t helping you now, are they?” a woman said bitterly. “They’re not helping us, either. I wish you had never come here!”

Others voiced their agreement. Ger’s coughing grew louder. More accusations rang out. Suddenly lots of people were shouting. The air vibrated with pent-up anger and fear. Someone leapt up and Lu flinched as she saw them deal out a savage kick, though she could not see the victim. There was a cry of pain and several of protest, then people all over the field were scrambling to their feet - some to strike at the newcomers, some to get away.

Lu grabbed Ti as she rose and turned to Dor, but he was gone. She searched for him, heart racing with terror.

“STOP!”

A light flashed so bright Lu found she could not see properly. Ti began to wail.

“THERE WILL BE NO FIGHTING!”

The voice was the White’s. Vision was slowly coming back. Lu blinked hard and held Ti close as she searched for her husband. Warriors marched across the field, snapping out orders.

“Pentadrians to the left, Circlians to the right,” one was saying.

They’re separating us, she realized. Where’s...?

Out of the crowd came Dor, his face dark with suppressed anger. She hurried to him and saw his expression soften. As his arm came around her shoulder she sighed with relief. Then she noticed the blood on his knuckles. She looked at him questioningly.

He smiled grimly. “A lucky hit,” he said. “After that I couldn’t get close. Nobody could. Most of them are sorcerers.”

“Sorcerers?” she repeated.

“Yes.” He sighed. “I think the White must be right. Ordinary people might have a few Gifts, but nothing like these. We’ve been tricked, Lu.”

Lu looked down at Ti, her little face screwed up as she cried with all her being, then over at the crowd of newcomers - no, Pentadrians - now settling down on the other side of the field. She felt something she had never felt before.

Hate.

34

Wrists were unbound. A water skin was handed over, and a parcel of food. Sreil turned to look at Auraya. His concern for her, and for the priest left alone below, was so strong she felt battered by it. She held his eyes and watched his thoughts shift to those who had gone before him, and home. He nodded once, then turned and leapt off the building.

She watched him fly away, relief washing over her. He still had to survive the long journey home, but the chances she could face Speaker Sirri again without terrible guilt and grief were better. She did not know how she would, if Sirri’s son did not make it home.

One Siyee left to free, she thought, conscious of the man at her side. If Nekaun is going to move against me he will do it soon.

“What are you going to show me today?” she asked, turning to regard him.

His shoulders lifted. “Nothing. I have shown you everything within reach of the city. Today... I thought we might relax and talk.”

Auraya smiled wryly. She could never allow herself to relax when talking to him. He led her down into the building and through corridors. Parts of the Sanctuary were familiar to her now. She rarely lost her sense of direction. As Nekaun took her a few levels higher than she had ventured before, she found her curiosity growing.

Reaching the end of a corridor, Nekaun led her through a set of double doors and led her into a large, airy room. Domestics waited.

“These are my private rooms,” he told her. A few words in Avvenan sent the domestics hurrying away. Nekaun opened a pair of wooden doors, revealing a balcony.

“Come outside,” he said. “It is a pleasant place to sit and talk, especially on a day like this when cool breezes ease the summer heat. I have ordered drinks and food.”

Auraya followed him out. Elaborately woven reed chairs filled the space. A blown glass jug stood on a table next to two intricately decorated goblets. Nekaun poured water into the goblets and handed one to Auraya.

Sitting down, she sipped it cautiously. Nekaun settled into a chair facing hers.

Turaan sat further away. The Companion barely spoke these days and most of the time she forgot he was there. Whereas Nekaun used to speak in his own language and allow Turaan to translate, he spoke Hanian now. Yet the Companion remained. Nekaun still needed to consult Turaan on the less common words he did not know yet.

Auraya always waited until Hanian was spoken, despite knowing that her mind-reading abilities had been discovered. So long as the Voices pretended the fact was a secret, so would she.

“So what do you think of my home now you have seen more of it?” Nekaun asked.

“The Sanctuary is pleasant,” she replied.

He smiled. “And the city?”

“Prosperous. Ordered. I wish Jarime had been planned with as much foresight.”

“One doesn’t plan unless one needs to. Hania is not as dry as Avven. What of my people? How do you regard them now?”

“As I always have,” she told him. “People are much the same everywhere. They love and hate. They follow good traditions and bad. They work, eat, sleep, raise families and grieve the dead.”

Nekaun’s eyebrows rose. “Yet you do not regard them in the same way you regard the Siyee?”

“The Siyee don’t hate me. Your people do.”

“Hmm.” He nodded. “But you did not know this until you came here.”

“No, but I reasoned that they would. I would have been deluded if I’d thought I’d be welcome. Your people have much to hate me for.”

His eyes brightened. “You could redress that,” he said softly. “If you stayed here. You have an opportunity to gain their favor.”

“And earn the hatred of my people?” she asked.

“Ah, but would you? If you brought about a lasting peace between our people you may be loved by all. It might not be easy at first, but if you succeeded...”

Auraya looked away, through the railing of the balcony to the city below. His vision was a powerful one. A tempting one. As a White, she had been known for her ability to unite people. Her naïve suggestions had brought about the freeing of her village from the Dunwayans who had taken it hostage. Her insight into the Dreamweavers had allowed her to achieve an alliance with the Somreyans, and to encourage tolerance and cooperation between the cult and Circlians. Her empathy and love for the Siyee had united the sky people with the Circlians. Making peace between the Circlians and Pentadrians almost seemed the next logical step.

But she was no longer a White. More importantly, she no longer had their complete trust. A negotiator needed the trust of all parties he or she dealt with.

Then there were the gods. She could never succeed at making peace between Circlians and Pentadrians with Huan working against her. She could never succeed unless the gods wanted peace. All of the gods.

Until the Circle decide to accept their Pentadrian counterparts there can be no peace.

A chill ran through her as she realized the truth of that. Peace was not in her hands, nor in the hands of any mortal or immortal. Mortals were helpless so long as the gods fought each other.

And so long as the gods used mortals as their tools and weapons. Why do they have to involve us? she thought, feeling anger stirring. Why can’t they settle their differences and leave us be? They lose followers in wars. Surely it would be better to make peace with each other?

From what she had overheard of Huan, she doubted the goddess could ever rise above petty hate and pride to negotiate with the Pentadrian gods. And what she had overheard of the gods’ conversations told her their own alliance wasn’t as solid as they liked mortals to believe.

Nekaun shifted in his seat, drawing her attention back to him. She felt an unexpected sympathy. He could not see that his ambition was impossible.

“I wish it were possible,” she told him. “But I cannot be the peacemaker. Not unless all the gods wish it.”

“My gods may wish it. Do yours?”

She grimaced. “I don’t know.”

He looked into the room. She saw that domestics had arrived with platters of food. They brought them outside and set them on low tables. Nekaun took a handful of nuts and chewed as he waited for them to leave.

“Is there anything I can offer you to persuade you to stay?” he asked when they had.

Auraya hesitated to answer. Once she let him know there was nothing to keep her here he would have no reason to keep his promise to let the Siyee go. No reason but the vow he’d made.

“Perhaps just a little longer,” he said. “A few months?”

She shook her head. “If you do achieve the peace you seek I would consider visiting Glymma again.”

He smiled. “There is something I could offer you, though it is too small a thing to offer in exchange for anything but a delay in your leaving.”

Turaan’s mind was suddenly alive with expectation and a name. Auraya managed to stop herself smiling.

“Oh?”

“Mirar.” Nekaun waved a hand. “His death could be arranged. It could even be arranged that you kill him yourself, if you wish.”

Auraya allowed herself a brief chuckle. “Forgive me, but for a moment there I had to wonder if you were interested in converting to the Circlian religion.”

He looked bemused. “Why?”

“This would please my gods greatly.”

“I see. And you remaining here would not.”

She shrugged. “Until they indicate otherwise, I have to assume so.”

He nodded. “Then all I can hope for is that they will indicate otherwise.” Taking another handful of nuts, he ate silently. Auraya took the opportunity to cautiously sample the dried fruit.

A door closed within the room. Nekaun looked up and frowned. A Servant stepped onto the balcony, radiating anxiety. He said something quickly. Reading the meaning from his mind, Auraya went cold.

Nekaun turned to regard her. “I’m afraid the last Siyee has fallen ill. It is doubtful that he will be able to fly tomorrow morning.”

She rose. “Take me to him.”

He nodded and stood up. “Of course. We’ll go there directly.”

Morning had confirmed what the night had hinted at: Avven was a near desert. Sunrise had painted the eroded landscape beautiful shades, but once the sun rose higher it leached everything of color. The air was dry and full of dust. Vegetation either huddled about the occasional water source or spread thinly across the rocky land, stunted and tough.

Sorlina’s one road led out of the city into a deep ravine, following the thin river that had once supplied the city. Emerahl had kept the arem walking at a steady pace all night. By morning the ravine and river were far behind and the road wound between fantastically eroded rock formations.

Ahead she had sensed a spark of triumph and gleefulness. Sometimes it drew away, sometimes she felt she was coming closer to it. Ray was pushing the arem hard, then stopping to rest when it tired. He wasn’t foolish enough to kill his mount. Not only would pursuers catch him easily, but walking in this hot dry land would be unpleasant and possibly fatal.

Emerahl had grabbed her water skin as she had slipped away from the Thinkers’ camp, but it held only enough to last her a day in this heat. She would have to hope there were sources of water along the road. If arem were common along this route there must be a well for them. But she wasn’t sure if the road was still used by travellers. She had seen none passing through the city to the lowlands, and the city itself would only attract the occasional curious traveller.

Ray would not have come this way if he didn’t think he could make it to Glymma, she told herself. He’s a greedy traitor, but he’s not stupid.

The long ride through the night had tired Ray and his emotions were not as loud to her senses as they had been. The footprints of his arem in the dusty road were easier to follow, however. She was tired and fighting off sleep was more difficult when she could sense the arem’s weariness. She wanted to tell The Twins what had happened but she could not trust herself to wake up after a dream-link.

I wonder if I could doze while riding. I could give it a try. I’ll know that I’ve failed when I hit the ground... no, I must keep awake in case the tracks...

She pulled the arem to a halt. The road surface ahead was smooth. No tracks.

Turning in her saddle she looked back. Not far behind she could see tracks leading off the road. She turned the arem and sent it back to that point. The tracks led away toward a rock outcrop.

Searching with her mind, she sensed a vague relief. The faintness of what she could detect suggested the source was sleeping. She smiled.

Dismounting was painful. She smothered a groan and massaged her legs and rear, then stretched carefully. Pouring a little water into a bowl she wedged it between a few rocks and left it for the arem.

Stepping off the road, she walked slowly toward the rocks, trying to keep the crunch of her footsteps on the stony ground as quiet as possible. The outcrop was the size of a large house. She picked her way around into its shadow, then stopped and smiled.

Ray was lying on a blanket. His arem stood with its head hanging, its lead tied to Ray’s wrist. It still carried packs and saddle.

A precaution, she thought. In case he has to leave in a hurry. Poor thing. All that treasure must be heavy.

She drew magic, created a basic protective shield and walked toward them. The arem took a few steps away, its lead jerking Ray’s wrist. Emerahl smiled as Ray grimaced and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Being woken was not pleasant when one was that tired.

“Greetings, Raynora,” she said, stopping a few steps away.

He blinked at her, then crossed his legs and sighed. His dismay was palpable. She sensed frustration too. He knew she was a sorceress, and that he could do nothing to stop her.

“Emmea. I should have guessed. Barmonia was so eager to get rid of you. Are you here to kill me or drag me back?”

“Neither. Bar didn’t send me,” she told him. “He ordered me to stay put then sent Mikmer and Kereon after you. They fell for your trick, of course. Hurried after your decoy arem.”

His smile was strained. “But you didn’t.”

“Of course not.” She shrugged. “I know where you’re heading and I know why. I’ve known about your mission all along.”

“How? I didn’t know I’d accept it until last night.”

She just smiled.

He frowned. “Why didn’t you tell the others?”

“Do you think they would have believed me?”

Ray shook his head. “No. If you knew my mission, why didn’t you stop me destroying the Scroll?” His eyes widened. “You wanted it destroyed, just like the Servants did!”

She chuckled. “No. I didn’t care about the Scroll itself. Ugly thing, really. Not worth the gold it’s made of. I would never have got it out of the country. No, I wanted what it led to.” She nodded to the pack.

He followed her gaze, then a smile spread across his face. “Ah.”

“Yes. Exotic. Old. Relatively pretty.” She walked over to the arem and stroked its nose. “And now I don’t have to share any of it.”

“But—”

“But what? You have a reward to claim?” She moved to the packs and opened the bulky, heavy-looking one. Gold, silver and gemstones formed a tangle of chains and trinkets inside. Reaching in, she raked through, half-heartedly looking for something extraordinary, but unsure what it might be. Something containing —

Diamond! The gem was impressively large and held in an odd silver setting. Plucking it out, she examined it closely. There were glyphs all over the setting. Looking at the gem itself, she felt her heart skip a beat as she saw tiny markings inside it.

This is it! she thought. I know it!

Pulling the chain free, she looped it over her neck. Ray was sitting with his head in his hands. As she went to close the pack she caught a glint of green: an enormous emerald on a thick gold chain. She freed it. Closing the pack, she lifted it from the arem and slung it over her shoulder.

“Ray.”

He looked up at her.

“Catch.”

She tossed the emerald to him. It landed neatly in his palm. “What’s this for?” he asked.

“Something to remember me by.”

He sighed. Weariness and resignation dulled his anger. Once he’d had a good night’s sleep and time to think, that anger might put ideas of following her into his head, she realized. Unless she gave him reason not to. She walked away toward the road, then turned as if something had just occurred to her.

“Did the Pentadrians ask you to destroy the Scroll or the secrets contained in it?”

He shrugged.

“Oh, Ray,” she said, smiling. “You were the only one who was nice to me. I really wish it wasn’t you... I’d hate for you to not get your reward after all this. Did you know Barmonia sent a copy of the Scroll back to Hannaya?”

His eyes widened and she sensed a sudden anxiety from him.

“Good luck,” she said. Turning away, she shifted the heavy pack onto her other shoulder and headed back to her arem.

I had better be right about this diamond, she thought. But I’d wager I’m right about the Scroll. Barmonia’s no fool. He probably did send a copy to the city. More than one copy, most likely.

She hoped so, since it was possible that the Scroll contained more important clues. The Twins would be furious if Ray did succeed in destroying all copies of it and Emerahl’s hunch about the diamond was wrong.

35

As she and Nekaun left the balcony Auraya sought the Siyee priest’s mind. It took some time to find him, and when she did she realized why. Teel was barely conscious and in terrible pain.

Though Nekaun set a rapid pace, she wished he would walk faster. Run, even. Yet at the same time she could not help remembering that Teel was the only Siyee she had ever felt a dislike for. His self-righteous pride and fanaticism, encouraged by Huan, had grated on her nerves during the journey here. But she would never wish this pain and suffering on the young man.

They reached the old part of the Sanctuary and hurried into the corridor that led to the hall. The two Servants that guarded the gate opened it as she and Nekaun appeared. Two more Servants waited inside - a man and a woman. They hovered around a Siyee lying beside the huge throne. From their thoughts she read puzzlement and concern. They did not know what ailed him. As they saw her and Nekaun they stepped back. She drew magic in preparation, set a barrier about herself and dropped into a crouch beside the Siyee.

“What is wrong?” Nekaun asked.

The two Servants spoke at once, then the woman lapsed into silence. Auraya placed a hand on the Siyee’s chest.

“He looked well enough this morning,” the male Servant confessed. “It’s strange. There is a—”

Nekaun raised a hand to silence the man. “Auraya will want to make her own assessment,” he said. Looking at her, he nodded. “Go on.”

She closed her eyes and quietened her mind as Mirar had taught her. It was not easy, but the distress of the body beneath her palm drew her in. She gasped at what she saw.

“He’s dying,” she said.

“Can you do anything?” Nekaun asked.

She began to influence the body’s processes, giving his heart strength, encouraging his lungs to work harder. Wherever she looked, organs were failing. Then she saw the cause. Something coursed through his veins. The source was his stomach.

Teel had been poisoned.

She reached for more magic... and was surprised and horrified when her efforts to heal the Siyee floundered. She reached out, trying to draw power to herself, but nothing came. In a rush, her awareness left the priest and flew outward. She recognized the lack around her.

A void. I’m in a void. A big one, too. I should have detected it before but I was only concerned about Teel. He’ll have to be moved. I wonder if Nekaun knows...

A chill ran through her body. Of course Nekaun knew about the void. How could he not? It was within the Sanctuary, the home of the Voices.

A trap. I fell right into it.

She was suddenly aware of him leaning over her. Moving away, she stood up and turned to face him.

“He has been poisoned,” she said.

Nekaun smiled. It was not the charming smile she had grown used to, but a smirk of satisfaction and menace. Her heart began to race.

He took a step toward her. “Then I don’t think we will be able to release your Siyee friend tomorrow.”

She backed away. Maybe he doesn’t know about the void. Maybe I’m misinterpreting his smile...

“Did you order it?” she asked.

“Yes. How else was I going to get you down here?” He looked over her shoulder. Her stomach sank as she realized the two Servants were standing behind her. From their minds she read his orders.

Surround her. She cannot fight you. As you have noticed, there is no magic here.

They hadn’t known of his plans, but recovered from their surprise quickly. She felt hands grasp her arms and tried to twist away, but both Servants were strong. Both were Servant-warriors, who prided themselves on their physical fitness as well as magical Skill.

“Let me go,” Auraya demanded.

They were amused by her order and had no intention of following it.

Nekaun was smiling broadly, enjoying the moment. As he stepped closer Auraya’s heart lurched. So is this how I’m going to die? she found herself wondering. Will Chaia take my soul? She searched for some sign that the gods were close but found none. Nekaun looked beyond her to the Servants.

“Behind the throne you will find chains.”

Chains? Auraya felt her heart swell with desperate hope. He doesn’t mean to kill me! Unless he means to kill me slowly. What will it be? Starvation? A slow poison? Or something worse?

Her mind shied away from that thought. She stared at Nekaun, wanting to say something to make him change his mind - a threat to frighten him, or an offer he would be tempted by. But her mind refused to think and she could not make herself speak. Her heart was pounding and she reflexively strained against the hands holding her, all the while uselessly reaching for magic. A Servant brought out the chains, which were firmly bolted to gaps in the arms of the chair.

“Put her back to the throne,” Nekaun instructed. “Lock her wrists in the shackles.”

The Servant woman held Auraya’s left arm outstretched, then her right, as the male Servant snapped the manacles around Auraya’s wrists. When they were done Nekaun waved them away. He reached out and grasped Auraya’s hand. She bit back a protest as he pulled off her priest ring.

But it doesn’t work in voids, anyway, she remembered.

He stepped back to regard her.

“That was much too easy,” he said, shaking his head. “Who would have thought a White - a former White - would be so easy to catch?”

She clenched her teeth. Did he want her to beg and plead? Make a bargain in exchange for her freedom?

So much for peace and alliances. So much for vows of safety.

“You swore by your gods that I would not be harmed while I stayed here,” she said in his language, so the Servants would understand. “How can you, their First Voice, break a vow in their names?”

His smile vanished, but his eyes still gleamed.

“I can,” he told her, his voice hard and serious. “But only at the orders of my gods. They told me to do this. Just as they told me to see if you could be persuaded to join us. Just as they told me your Siyee were coming to attack us.” He shrugged. “Just as I will kill you if they ask me to. You had best hope they do not.” Then his smile returned. “At last I can get back to some interesting work.”

Turning on his heel, he strode out of the hall, Turaan and the pair of Servants following.

It was a sad procession that made its way along the road to Chon. At the front the Pentadrians walked, flanked by warriors. Ella, Danjin, Yem, Gillen and Gret came next, riding in the covered platten. The villagers followed at the rear, surrounded by more warriors. A cart and arem had been found on one of the farms for small children, the old and the sick to ride on.

Those in the covered platten had talked little. Gillen had tried to strike up a conversation mere hours after the journey had begun, but the others had all but ignored him. Hurt, he had lapsed into a sullen, resigned silence.

Danjin looked at Yem. The young warrior was all quiet dignity now he was in the company of a clan leader. Gret seemed determined to sulk over the shame that one of his villages had welcomed Pentadrians, and the evidence was now being paraded through Dunway. Ella was as distant as she had been on the way to the village. Her attention was elsewhere. From time to time her expression changed subtly. She would frown, sigh or smile without obvious reason. He knew she was keeping an eye on the Pentadrians in case they tried to flee or attack the warriors. While the warriors were not lacking in Gifts, none were powerful sorcerers and would need assistance if their prisoners rebelled.

The door covers of the platten had been pinned back. Danjin would have appreciated the view if it wasn’t spoiled by glimpses of the villagers following them, pricking his conscience. Now, to make things worse, he heard a faint patter and realized it was raining. How long would it be before the rain-soaked villagers became sick?

“The Scalar warriors have reached the village ahead of us,” Ella said suddenly. “We will meet them there and stop to rest and gather food.”

All looked at her and nodded. Gret’s brows managed to knit even closer together. He turned away and glowered at the rain outside.

They passed a house, then another several minutes later. The platten slowly descended into a valley, following a road that ran beside a swift-flowing river. Then suddenly they were in the midst of houses, all huddled in a bend in the river. Locals stood on the road or in doorways, watching.

Ella looked at Gret. “Would you greet the Scalar for us?”

Gret’s scowl eased at that. She was giving him the opportunity to appear in control of the group. He nodded once, then climbed out of the platten, jumping to the ground while it was still moving. Danjin heard orders being barked.

The platten rolled to a halt a short while later. Ella climbed out. Following her, Danjin examined his surroundings. The Pentadrians had been herded into what looked like a stock sorting yard. Gret and several Dunwayan sorcerers were standing nearby. The arrested villagers were huddled under the broad veranda of a storage house. A subordinate of Gret’s hurried over to Ella, in the company of a broad-shouldered man with tufts of gray in his hair.

“This is the village leader, Wim,” the warrior said. “He says he has plenty of food and suggested we take some for the journey.”

The man made the sign of the circle. Ella nodded in reply. “We shall do so. Thank you.”

As the pair moved away, Ella walked over to greet the Scalar. The sorcerer warriors looked formidable in their blue clothes and radiating face tattoos. Gret introduced them to the leader, Wek.

After greetings had been exchanged, Ella turned to nod at the Pentadrian group.

“There are a few strongly Gifted ones,” she warned. “So far they have been little trouble.”

Wek nodded. “We have orders to execute them immediately.” He looked at her. “Can you confirm that every man and woman in that group is a Pentadrian?”

“They are,” she said, nodding once. “All but three of the women and one of the men are from Southern Ithania. The four Dunwayans consider themselves fully converted Pentadrians.”

Wek’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “And the villagers?”

“Some are guilty of helping the Pentadrians, some only of neglecting to report their presence. Some may be excused, as they were too young or addled by age to act for themselves.”

Wek nodded. When he did not ask any further questions, Danjin felt his stomach sink. He looked at Ella intently, but she did not meet his gaze. Instead, she turned to Gret. “I must talk to you privately.”

As she moved away, she paused and looked back at Danjin.

“You too, Danjin.” She almost seemed to smile, then her expression grew serious again as they drew out of the hearing of others. “I am to go to Chon as quickly as possible,” she told Gret. “Danjin, you are to go with me, but not the others. I must travel light for the sake of speed.” She paused. “I am to give you both the bad news that we are going to war. The gods called the White to the Altar a short while ago. They have decided we must do what we should have done all along - rid the world of these Pentadrian sorcerers.”

So that’s what she was doing while we were in the plat ten, Danjin found himself thinking. Linked to Juran or one of the other White, she was actually talking to the gods!

Gret’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and an eager light came into his eyes. Danjin could see how this turn of events worked in the man’s favor. He might have harbored Pentadrians unknowingly, but now he had the chance to redress the stain on his honor. And he wouldn’t have to endure the shame of accompanying the villagers to Chon.

“I will come with you, Ellareen of the White,” he said. “When will we leave?”

She smiled grimly. “As soon as we can find a platten and fresh horses.”

“Then allow me to hunt you down a set.”

He walked away, his back straight and his steps jaunty. Danjin shook his head.

“Warriors,” he muttered.

Ella chuckled. “Yes, they love a chance to show off their skills.”

He looked at her sideways. “A war, then? And this time we are the invaders.”

She nodded. “The gods’ patience at these attempts to subvert Circlians has been stretched too far this time. We have found Pentadrian Servants in all lands except Si. In Somrey they have been appallingly successful at attracting converts. In Toren we’ve discovered a secret group recruiting the poor and the homeless in exchange for teaching them to use magic to rob the rich. In Genria they pose as healers who specialize in fertility. And in Sennon... well, they’ve always been in Sennon, along with every other madman who follows dead gods or invents new ones.” She grimaced in disgust. “There’s a new cult there that worships the Maker, who apparently created the gods themselves. Strange how the gods aren’t aware of this.”

Danjin smiled. “Strange indeed.”

She sighed. “But they aren’t concerned about this Wise Man and his ideas. It is the Pentadrians we must worry about. We cannot kill their gods, but if we kill the Voices we may weaken them enough that they do not threaten us for a time.”

He nodded, but could not help thinking how closely matched the previous battle had been. Until Auraya had killed the enemy leader, the Circlians had been losing.

Ella smiled. “Yes, we have considered that, Danjin. But this time we have an advantage.”

“Auraya?”

She frowned. “No. We can’t rely upon her help, but the gods have assured us she will not hinder us. No, our advantage is not one individual but a nation: this time we have Sennon on our side.”

“So long as the emperor doesn’t change his mind at the last moment.”

“He won’t,” she assured him. “Not this time. We are going to take this battle to the Pentadrians, and he knows that means it will be fought on his land, at the Isthmus.”

Danjin looked at the arrested villagers. “What of these people? How will I-Portak know who is innocent if you are not there to read their minds?”

Ella shrugged. “Their system of justice has operated well enough without my assistance in the past, as I’m sure it will now.”

“Do you really believe that?” he asked.

She looked at him, then sighed. “I have to. What else can I do?”

“Write a list,” he suggested. “Noting which villagers are guilty of which crimes.”

She considered him, then nodded. “I can do that.”

“I don’t suppose I can persuade you to excuse the children and the sick from this march at the same time?”

Ella shook her head. “Who would look after them?”

“Surely someone would.”

“Even if someone did, would you like to be the one to take a child from their parent?”

He could not answer that. I’d want to spend as much time with my child as possible if I thought I did not have much time left, he found himself thinking.

She sighed and suddenly looked tired. “I must admit, it’s a relief to leave at last.”

Danjin felt a pang of sympathy. “Watching other lands deal out such harsh punishment is never an easy task.”

She gave him an odd look. “I meant to go to war. The gods kept changing their minds. They had us prepare for war, then stand down our armies, then rouse them again. I think it was because of Auraya. When she decided to stay in Glymma it spoiled the gods’ plans. Now perhaps she has left, and we are free to make our move.”

Danjin nodded. “So will she be joining us soon?”

“I don’t know.” Ella shrugged and turned to meet Gret, who was driving a platten pulled by two fresh arem.

36

Footsteps were like hammers in Teel’s head. He opened his eyes. Black-robed men were approaching. They crowded around. He felt hands under him, around him, gripping hard. Pain ripped through him. It crushed his thoughts.

Something cool touched his lips. Rousing again, he swallowed as water was poured down his throat. It tasted sour. He remembered a voice from earlier. A familiar voice.

“He has been poisoned.”

He spat out the water, but the hands and black robes crowded him. Cruel fingers pressed into his jaw. The foul water came again and he surrendered to it. The sooner he died, the sooner the pain would end. He would go to Huan. He was her favorite. She would take him in.

For a time he wallowed in blackness. The pain eased. He had no strength and he was very cold, but he felt better. Opening his eyes, he looked up at the high ceiling of the hall, and remembered his fellow Siyee flying carefully in the close quarters.

All gone, he thought. I’m alone here.

:No, Teel, you are not.

The voice in his mind startled him. It was not Huan. It had a maleness about it.

:I am Chaia.

Chaia!

:Yes. Look to your right, Teel.

He obeyed. The oversized throne loomed above him. He could remember being dragged there after the illness - poison - took hold. He also remembered being lifted and carried back.

A movement attracted his gaze and for a moment he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A woman stood before the throne. Chained.

Auraya!

:Yes. She has been betrayed.

Teel groaned.

:I’m never going to get out of here, am I?

:It is unlikely. I cannot free you. There is nobody here who will obey my orders.

Why doesn’t Auraya use magic to break the chains?

:She is in a place of no magic.

Auraya’s gaze was focused on some distant place. She looked dazed. Teel felt an unexpected sympathy for her. She was so used to being powerful and invulnerable. This must be hard to accept. And humiliating.

:I cannot reach her, Chaia repeated. So you must. Will you speak to her for me?

:Of course.

:Tell her this...

Teel listened carefully, then drew a breath and called out to her. It came out weaker than he’d intended, but her gaze sharpened and her eyes snapped to his.

“Teel!” She frowned in concern. “How are you feeling? The Servants gave you something. I hoped it was an antidote to the poison.”

Suddenly he knew who he had heard speak of poison.

“Oh. I thought they were...” he paused, suddenly breathless “... giving me more poison.” Talking was hard. It seemed to drain more energy from him.

She smiled faintly. “No, but it was a logical conclusion to make. I would have.”

He would have shrugged if he could bother moving. “Doesn’t matter. Chaia... gave me... a message for you.”

“Chaia?” Her eyes widened and he saw hope in them.

“Yes. He said... he will try to keep... talking to you... through me.” It was such an effort to talk. “If the enemy... takes me away... he’ll find... someone else. You’ll know... him from... a word... ‘shadow.’ ”

He stopped, his head spinning. Closing his eyes, he felt himself drifting away.

“Teel!”

Dragging his eyes open, he smiled at her.

“Stay awake, Teel,” she said. “Talk to me.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but it was too much effort. There was a rushing sound in his ears. The room brightened and grew hazy at the same time. It was a cold light. He could not feel his hands. Or his feet. Breathing was such an effort.

Too much. He gave it up and the light rushed in to burn his thoughts away.

Reivan sighed as she climbed into bed. The summer heat was relentless. She found it hard to remember what the other seasons were like, but easy to imagine this one had no end.

It had been more than a month since Nekaun had visited her. Lately she had begun telling herself that he wouldn’t again. He’d seen all he’d wanted to see of her. His curiosity had been satisfied. He had moved on to more interesting challenges.

Like Auraya.

But Nekaun was no longer trying to charm Auraya. Imenja had told Reivan, with obvious satisfaction, that Nekaun had imprisoned Auraya.

How that was possible was still not clear to Reivan. Or why Nekaun hadn’t killed Auraya. When she had asked, Imenja had simply talked about something else.

The news had brought smiles to many Servants’ faces, and the relief of all was heard in the voices of those gossiping in the Baths and corridors. Reivan had been surprised at her own pleasure at the news. I should be worried about the advantage we are losing by not gaining Auraya’s alliance, but all I can think of is that Nekaun won’t be spending all his time with her now!

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She sighed. The news must have spread beyond the Sanctuary by now. Many of the people she dealt with on Imenja’s behalf would want confirmation.

Reaching the door, she opened it and froze in disbelief.

“Good evening, Reivan.”

I’m dreaming, she thought. I probably dreamed I got out of bed and in a moment I’ll wake up.

But she didn’t. Nekaun really was standing there. She didn’t know what to do. Or say.

Nekaun smiled. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

Speechless, she stepped back. As he walked past her she caught his scent and felt a deep longing. Nekaun turned to regard her. “It is too long since we talked, Reivan.”

She nodded and closed the door. Moving to the table she poured water into two glasses and handed one to him.

Just as she used to.

He drank, set aside the empty glass, then moved closer and took hers from her hand.

Just as he used to.

“You’ve heard the news?” he asked. “Auraya is trapped, helpless, beneath the Sanctuary.”

Auraya. She frowned as the word woke her from her daze. “Yes.”

He sighed. “I don’t know why the gods put me through all that. Were they testing me or her? I don’t know. Right now I don’t care.”

“So you weren’t enjoying her company, then?” she found herself asking.

He grimaced. “Tedious beyond description.” His eyes narrowed. “Were you jealous of her?”

She looked away, knowing it was pointless denying it.

He laughed softly and drew her into his arms. “Oh, Reivan. How silly of you. Who could be attracted to such a sour, suspicious woman? I’d rather woo an arem.”

His smell, his warmth, overwhelmed her. He’s back! she thought.

How long for? a dark voice asked.

Be quiet, she told it.

“I’ve missed you,” he said.

Her heart flipped over. “I’ve missed you, too.”

He drew closer. She knew what came next and felt her heart racing as he leaned down to kiss her.

Then he froze, his eyes widening in surprise. A fierce, intense look came into his eyes. Reivan pulled out of his rigid arms, a little frightened by his expression. His eyebrows lowered into a scowl, then he let out a sharp breath and his eyes met hers. They blazed with anger.

“I’m sorry, Reivan. I will not be able to stay.” His jaw clenched. “The gods have just ordered me to ready our army. The Circlians are planning to invade us.”

She stared at him, shock almost overcoming her disappointment as he touched her gently on the cheek, then marched from the room.

Second Voice Imenja had kept Mirar occupied all day, taking him to see artisans on the outskirts of the city. They had eaten fish caught fresh from the river and talked about healing and magic. All day he had been aware that only one more Siyee remained to be freed. He expected Imenja to offer up Auraya’s death at any moment, but she had said nothing.

Returning late to the Sanctuary, he had sensed a buzz of excitement and satisfaction in the air. As soon as he had reached his rooms he lay down and entered a dream trance, intending to skim the minds around him and find out what had stirred the Servants up. But before he could send his mind out, another called to him.

:Mirar!

:Surim? Tamun?

:Yes, Surim said. I have news. Bad news.

:Oh?

:The Voices have imprisoned Auraya under the Sanctuary, Tamun said.

Mirar jolted awake. He stared at the ceiling, then closed his eyes and forced his heartbeat and breathing to slow. It took a maddeningly long time to settle into a dream trance again.

:Surim?

:Mirar. You woke up?

:Yes.

:Sorry. I should have broken the news more gently, Tamun said.

:Don’t apologize. Just tell me how and why.

:It appears there is a void under the Sanctuary. It must have been a secret, known only to the Voices.

:A void. She will be completely vulnerable.

:As vulnerable as any mortal.

:Why didn’t she sense it? Surely she wouldn’t have entered it if she had.

:I don’t know. A distraction, probably.

:Why did they imprison her? Why not kill her? Mirar paused. They haven’t realized that she and I were once lovers, have they?

:Not as far as any mortals there know, Surim assured him.

:You will know if they try to use her against you, Tamun pointed out.

:More likely they’ll take you down there and offer to let you kill her in exchange for something, Surim warned.

:And what will they do when I refuse?

:I wouldn’t, if I were you. I’d pretend to think about it.

:You can’t be sure you are the only reason they’ve done this, too, Tamun said. The Circlians have summoned their armies. They’re coming to invade Southern Ithania. Keeping Auraya out of the way is a wise decision.

:Wiser to kill her, Mirar disagreed grimly. If the Pentadrians know war is coming, they’ll try to recruit me and my Dreamweavers again.

:What will you do?

Mirar did not answer. Would the Pentadrians make him choose between breaking the laws of his people and sacrificing Auraya?

They’ll try, he thought.

:I’ll rescue Auraya, he told The Twins.

:That would be extremely foolish, Tamun said. You would earn the enmity of the Pentadrians. All Dreamweavers will suffer.

:Only if they know I did it.

Pulling out of the dream-link, Mirar stared at the ceiling. Then he sent his mind out to skim those around him.

Sure enough, the news of Auraya’s imprisonment had spread through the Sanctuary. He searched and found the minds of two Servant-warriors guarding an underground hall. Through their eyes he saw a lonely figure, arms chained to an oversized chair. His heart shrank, as if as appalled by the scene as his mind was.

In a void she had no access to magic. She was more vulnerable than the least Gifted beggar woman. Worse, even, for she wasn’t used to physical hardship or humiliation.

He drew back, sank into the dream trance and sought her mind.

:Auraya?

She didn’t reply. After several attempts he returned to the minds of the guards. The chained figure moved and he realized she was awake.

I couldn’t sleep if I were in her position, he thought. Frustrated, all he could do was watch her through another’s eyes. I will free her, he told himself. I will find a way. And when I do, the Voices won’t even know I had anything to do with it.

Clever plans were easier hatched with two minds than one. Drawing away from the sight of Auraya and into the dream trance again, he sought the mind of an old friend.