As soon as the cave-like darkness began to lighten to gray, Maskelle went to the south gate in the outer wall with Rian and Rastim. After the attack last night, the priests had altered their chant slightly, just enough to change two vital steps of the path through the barrier. It would be changed again tonight, as darkness fell, and again every night they spent here.
The sentries on the gate watched them worriedly as they made their way through the barrier, the older one pointing out to Rian that they couldn’t cover them once they were past it. Maskelle didn’t think that would be a problem; their opponents had shown no inclination to attack during the day.
The sky was still heavily clouded, but the dry air was warmer and smelled faintly of smoke. Despite the dimness of the morning light, Maskelle could already see that the dark plumes over the distant mountains were larger.
The bodies of the creatures that had tried to attack still littered the ground outside the wall, but as Rian kicked one over Maskelle saw that, like Marada’s remnants, they weren’t bodies at all. Rocks, fragments of carved stone, smashed pieces of dark-colored pottery clung together in a roughly man-shaped form. It didn’t seem to have a head, but then Maskelle supposed whoever had created it hadn’t thought the creature needed one.
Rastim stared. “That’s all that’s left?”
Maskelle shook her head slightly. “That’s all there ever was.”
“Something just put them together out of whatever was lying around and sent them after us?” Rastim said in wonder, looking around at the debris. “Like puppets.” He shivered in disgust. He was taking Gisar’s activities very much to heart, and seemed to think that he and the other Ariaden were somehow responsible for the trouble it was causing. Maskelle didn’t have the time to sit down and convince him it wasn’t true, that no one could have anticipated any of this, especially not the bizarre change in Gisar’s demon.
Even the Adversary hadn’t been able to warn her; at least, not in a way she could understand.
“Like that armor in the Palace,” Rian said, poking at the remains of the creature again. He sat on his heels to turn the pieces over. “Like Gisar. Or what It changed Gisar into.”
Maskelle pushed her hair back and let her breath out wearily. Her skin was gritty from the wind-blown dust. “It would help if we knew if Gisar led you to the spot where Marada was coming through the barrier by accident or design. And how Marada learned the way through at all.” Gisar had been seen throughout the night in the outer court and the third gallery, sometimes as close as the lower level of the second gallery. It had hurt no one so far, only appearing long enough to make people chase it. Maskelle had been awake all night, bracing for a possible second attack from outside and trying to get the Adversary’s help to track down their resident demon, but the Infinite had been unresponsive. Rian looked weary too; she knew he had gotten only an hour or so of sleep, sitting up against the wall outside the room where the Celestial One lay. He was as determined to catch Gisar as she was.
“I’m sure I heard another voice,” Rian said. He shook his head, still staring down at the litter, though she could tell his thoughts weren’t on it. “I think she knew the way through because someone told her. Which means they know our plans.”
Maskelle nodded grimly. They were still going to send out the search parties. There was nothing else they could do.
Rastim had moved over to the other heaps of debris that lay nearby, picking through the remains. Maskelle saw Karuda and a few guardsmen come out of the gate, make their way through the barrier, and stare around at the “bodies” of the creatures.
Rian got to his feet and absently rubbed his hands on his pants. “You can’t go out with a search party,” he told Maskelle.
Rastim looked up, his expression intent. Maskelle stared from one man to the other. She didn’t like it when her supposed allies banded together against her. “Oh, so you two decided this?”
Rastim scratched his head and looked away. Rian sighed and stared up at the cloudy sky. “Yes, that’s it. While we were tearing the place apart looking for a demon puppet, we’ve been plotting against you.”
She rubbed her forehead tiredly. Maybe she was the one jumping to conclusions. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”
Rian persisted, “You can’t go with us. All the priests are keeping the barrier up. If Gisar goes after the Voices, or the Celestial One, or the Wheel—”
“I know,” she said sharply. She knew he was right, she just didn’t like it. “I know.”
“I’m going,” Rastim said conversationally. He stood, looking off at the buildings to the south, their spires and domes wreathed in mist. “Which direction are we taking? I think—”
Rian stared at him. “Who are you talking to?”
Ignoring that, Maskelle asked Rastim, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Rastim tucked his thumbs in his belt uneasily. “I talked it over with the others and we’re all going out, except for the women. They’re going to help Mali guard the Celestial One.” He faced Rian. “I’m going with you.” With a shrug he added, “It stands to reason. We’re not needed here. And we want to pull our weight. Especially after the Gisar incident.”
Maskelle threw her arms in the air. She didn’t want the Ariaden hurt; they were actors, not warriors. “Chasing it last night was helping!”
Rian considered Rastim for a moment, then said, “If you go with me, what are you going to do?”
Rastim bridled. “Help. What else?”
“No. What are you going to do?”
Rastim hesitated. Maskelle folded her arms and looked at the ground, resigned. Rastim huffed and finally said grimly, “Whatever you say.”
Rian conceded, “All right. You can come.”
Rastim glared. “Well, thank you very kindly.”
“Now that we’ve got that settled…” Maskelle looked around, trying not to think about anything but this present moment. “Which way are you taking?”
“South,” Rian said, talking to the ground. She was a little surprised to see it; he had won arguments with her before. She seemed to recall that he had won most of them. She realized he knew how she felt at being forced to stay behind, and sighed a little. He added, “Three groups are going this way. We’ll spread out to cover more ground.”
Maskelle looked south, hoping for guidance. Her eyes passed over a tall structure with two spires standing up like horns, then came back to it. Something … No, she wasn’t sure. She shook her head in annoyance. Since this had happened the Adversary was either too close for comfort or completely absent. “I’ll follow you in spirit form as long as I can.”
Outside the gate in the south wall, Karuda folded the square of paper that had their plan for the search drawn on it. He said, “If you find it, no heroics. Send someone back for help immediately.”
Rian nodded mock-solemnly. “I know. We agreed on that last night.” The sky was only a little lighter and the men who would form the search parties for this direction were gathered around, checking their weapons, and curiously examining the remains of the creatures as Rian, Maskelle, and Rastim had earlier this morning.
Karuda grimaced but didn’t reply, tucking the folded paper into his belt. The Kushorit noble had meant to lead one of the parties going to the east, but now he was staying behind to oversee the defense of the Marai. He didn’t look happy about it. He looked, in fact, like the circumstance had left him not only badly embarrassed but had irreparably injured his honor. Rian knew he must have been ordered to stay behind by Mirak or the Emperor.
The group Rian would lead had two Palace Guards, one temple guard, two temple servants, and a monk, plus Rastim and Rian. There were two other groups going out from this side and Rastim was helping the others divide up the supplies. By turning out the entire contents of the temple storerooms, they had scrounged up several coils of rope and enough candles and handlamps to go around. There were also water flasks for everyone and a ration of food. Everyone was armed, though some only with makeshift clubs.
Karuda said shortly, “Good luck,” and walked away.
Rian turned to realize they had had an audience, that his men and the other two groups were watching them with concern.
“Lord Karuda is very proud,” one of the Palace Guards said. Rian thought the man’s name was Idoru.
“That’s why he should be with us,” Rian said, which made everyone happy except Rastim, who rolled his eyes and muttered, “Diplomacy, who would have thought it?”
Rian made sure everyone knew the altered steps to go back and forth through the priests’ defensive barrier. After performing the maneuver for the fifth time, Rastim objected, “Look, Sintane, I have sixty-three plays in my head. I can remember a few dance steps.”
“All right, fine.” Rian wiped dusty sweat off his forehead and gave in. If things went badly wrong, he didn’t want to leave Rastim trapped out here. But he had to take the man at his word or refuse to let him go. He picked up one of the packs with their supplies. “Let’s go.”
He waved to the leaders of the other two groups and they started away in the same direction Rian and Karuda had taken yesterday. Rastim positioned himself at Rian’s side, talking cheerfully. They would be able to see and hear the other groups for a time, but the plan called for them to spread out as they searched, to cover more ground. As they neared the first building, the one they had examined yesterday, Rian glanced back at the temple and movement caught his eye. He stopped, gazing back at it, squinting against the blown dust.
Rastim kept walking—and talking—for a few moments before he noticed. He jogged back to Rian’s side and asked with annoyance, “Did we forget something?”
“No. I thought I saw someone following us.”
“Ah.” Rastim shielded his eyes with his hand. “Perhaps it’s just someone coming along for a little while, you know. Out of curiosity.”
Rian turned to stare at him, incredulous. “What, like dolphins after ships?”
Rastim immediately became defensive. “Why not?”
Rian shook his head, looking back at the temple. He didn’t see any movement now. Perhaps it had only been someone left behind and running to catch up with the other group. Or his imagination, or a trick of the light. In this place? With our luck? he thought. Not likely.
That’s me, Maskelle whispered in his ear.
Rian just managed to turn his alarmed twitch into a shrug and rubbed the back of his neck. He remembered that she had said she would follow in spirit and he hadn’t really considered what that would mean.
Rastim was frowning at him.
“Come on,” Rian said, settling his pack more firmly on his shoulder and smiling a little.
“I was going already, you’re the one who stopped,” Rastim protested, trailing after him.
“High Revered?”
Maskelle’s eyes were filled with the strange city backed by the smoking mountains. It took a moment of concentration to say the word aloud and not whisper it in Rian’s ear. “What?”
One of the nuns who had been helping guard and tend the Celestial One said, “A person has come from the Celestial Emperor. He wishes to speak with you.”
“The person or the Emperor?”
“The Emperor.”
Ah, well. This had to happen soon enough. And at least Raith had chosen to make his request before the searchers had gotten too far into the city. She extended her spirit out toward them again and whispered, “I have to go. It shouldn’t be long.”
“We’ll try not to have fun without you,” she heard Rian say aloud.
“What?” Rastim sounded startled.
Smiling faintly, Maskelle brought herself back to her body. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, focusing on the nun. “Who came with the message?”
“A courtier, High Revered. I do not know him.” The nun looked a little worried, as well she might; they had seen no one from the Palace contingent except Mirak and Karuda and the guards.
“Well, I probably don’t know him either.” Maskelle stood and stretched, ignoring the twinge from her knees. She went over to check the Celestial One.
As she knelt beside him, Old Mali said, “Still dead.” Despite the irreverence of her words, the old woman’s tone was bleak, her brow creased with sorrow.
“I didn’t suppose any different.” Maskelle touched the old man’s forehead lightly. His skin felt dry and cool. I could use some help here, she thought to him. It’s not like You to hide from a fight.
Maskelle stood and went to the door, brushing aside the makeshift curtain. In the gallery outside a courtier was waiting, being impolitely stared at by Doria and Killia and Therassa. Doria was holding a bori club, though fortunately she wasn’t actively threatening anyone with it. The man was young, not much older than Raith, and looked as grim and tired as everyone else; the only thing that marked him as a courtier was the silk brocade of his robe. He bowed to her and said, “High Revered, the Throne—”
“I know,” she said. “I’ll go with you.”
Killia touched her sleeve. “Are you sure?” she whispered, speaking Ariaden. “What if it’s a trick?” Doria nodded worriedly.
“It’s all right,” Maskelle told them, raising placating hands. “Really.”
“You want us to come with you?” Doria asked, eyeing the courtier with wary suspicion.
“No, wait here. I won’t be long.”
Maskelle followed the courtier through the gallery and out into the central court. The courtier glanced up at the men and women lining the upper galleries. They were all still rapt in concentration, the soft murmur of their chant rising and falling in the dry air. He said, “How long can they do this?”
Maskelle glanced at him and saw the uncertainty under the veneer of grim determination. “As long as the food and water hold out.”
He led her to the corner tower and the stairs that went up to the second-level gallery. She caught glimpses of the other members of the royal party in the tower rooms and the chambers to the side, their festival clothes showing the wear after the extra day of unaccustomed use. A few of Karuda’s archers, left out of the search parties to guard the temple, were posted at regular intervals. Everyone watched her with the mix of curiosity and wariness she was long accustomed to. Except now there was something else in their expressions. Hope? Maskelle wondered. That would be typical. They look to me for their salvation, and I have only questions, no answers.
A room had been divided off from the gallery by a couple of festival banners, and outside it waited more guards and another couple of courtiers, these two armed with swords. One of the guards drew the curtain back and the courtier who had brought her here bowed and gestured for her to enter.
Maskelle stepped inside and saw Raith standing across the room, his back to her. The openings between the pillars had been draped too, but the curtains were pulled back now to let in the wan daylight and a little of the breeze. The room was sparsely furnished with a couple of makeshift pallets and a brazier. One of the young Court Ladies was seated on a cushion, holding a small lute in her lap. Without waiting for the Emperor’s command, the woman got to her feet hurriedly, bowed, and stepped out through the curtain.
Maskelle took a deep breath and simply waited.
Raith turned to face her, his stony expression telling her nothing. “So.” He still wore the silk and gold of the festival clothing, but he had put off some of the heavier pieces of jewelry. “Here we are.”
“Indeed.”
To her surprise, he looked away, biting his lip, forehead creased with some strong emotion she couldn’t name. His voice thick, he said, “You were right, then.”
Maskelle watched him, aware how very little she really knew about him after all these years. “Right? About what?” It happens so seldom, lately …
“This.” He gestured down at the court bitterly, then up at the sickly purple sky. “If I took the Celestial Throne, disaster would result.” He laughed sharply. “If I had known this was the kind of disaster you meant, I would have taken my own life.”
Maskelle shook her head, suddenly unsure what to say. “This is … Raith, this isn’t the vision I had. That vision was false.”
“Was it?” He stared at her. “You don’t call this disaster?”
“I call it disaster, but—” Maskelle couldn’t continue. Raith was the one who had allowed Marada at Court. But it was such a small mistake, to find a foreign courtier pleasing. Marada had fooled advanced priests and spoken to the Celestial One himself without revealing her intentions or her strange origin. How could Raith possibly be to blame? And even if she had never received admission to Court, that wouldn’t have stopped her from living in the city, seeking instruction from Veran or some other unlucky priest. I thought I killed her, and it still didn’t stop this, she thought. “We still don’t know what happened, or who created the second Wheel of the Infinite. We’ve only a demented puppet’s word that there is a second Wheel; it could be telling us only what we want to hear, mindlessly repeating the theory Vigar and I had. The Wheel wasn’t at Marada’s house, where we expected to find it.” She rubbed her tired eyes. She couldn’t stay here and console Raith for long; she had to get back to Rian and Rastim before anything happened to them. “I know now she didn’t die when I thought she did, and she obviously had allies we knew nothing about.”
Raith stood silently a moment, then took a deep breath, seeking control. He took a couple of steps back to the balustrade and looked down at the court, where some of the temple servants were drawing water out of the basins. “So Lady Marada was some sort of spirit creature? Karuda said she was killed while trying to assassinate the Celestial One with magic, but then she returned to attack you last night.”
He sounded oddly dispassionate about it, as if he had no close relationship with the woman at all. Maskelle said cautiously, “Yes. And she was certainly the one who killed Igarin and Veran.” She hesitated, and added finally, “I’m sorry.”
Staring pensively out at the court below, Raith made a dismissive gesture. Then he glanced at her, puzzled. “For what? For Marada?”
Maskelle studied his face. She said slowly, “For Marada. I’m sorry it was her. I heard you were much attached to her.”
He shook his head, still puzzled. “No. She was close to the Court, but…” He saw her expression and added, “Why? Were there rumors? There always are. But she was more attached to Chancellor Mirak.” He snorted and looked down into the court again. “The gossips told me he gave her the richest of gifts. It was unusual for him; he wasn’t one to succumb to beauty. I suppose he feels like a fool now.”
Maskelle drew a deep breath. “I see.” Oh yes, now I see.
“It’s funny how Gisar helped us last night,” Rastim said as he plodded along, shielding his eyes as an eddy showered them briefly with dust.
“What?” Rian asked. They were working their way south through the city, the strange empty buildings rising like mountains all around them. They investigated doorways that opened into huge cavernous spaces and others that led only into rubble-filled warrens, all that was left after the upper floors collapsed. There were no paintings, no carvings except for the spare geometrical designs, no statues—at least none so far—though Rastim had found one place that had had several spots on the walls where it was apparent the carvings had been removed deliberately, and not simply worn away by wind and time. Rian wasn’t sure what to make of it, though he supposed it might be something like when a rival lord seized a Hold and destroyed his predecessor’s likenesses in the wall paintings.
The city felt even more vast under the sunless sky the farther they got from the temple. In the distance the wind drove sheets of dust across the stone, sometimes creating whirlwinds that shattered against the massive stone buildings. They had been able to hear and catch glimpses of the groups to the left and right of them for the first part of the day, but for a while now they had been alone.
“And you know, if we hadn’t run into him, we’d have gone outside the wall,” Rastim continued. “Maybe even outside the barrier since it would have been safer to look for him from the other side, with him trapped inside it and unable to get to us. We’d have run right into those things.”
“So?” Rian prodded, though he knew what Rastim meant.
“So it was lucky. And odd.”
Damned odd, Rian thought, but there were no answers. He craned his neck to look up at the buildings around them. The one right above them had a bridge coming out of its dome, stretching across the plaza to a tall thin pillar. “Here’s another one with a bridge.” He turned and waved to the men across the square, who started back toward them.
Rastim sighed and looked back again at the heart tower of the Marai, just visible between the two buildings behind them, but made no other comment. Rian had been looking for a building with a bridge or balcony that they could climb up to and get a better perspective on the city, but all those they had found so far had been unreachable.
As the others reached them, Rian stepped back, looking up again at the dark windows high overhead. “Come on, let’s try to find the way in.”
“Perhaps there isn’t one,” Rastim suggested hopefully.
Rian started away, following the curve of the wall. “Then in that case I hope you like to climb.” He gestured up to the windows, a good fifty or sixty feet up the side. “What did you think I brought the rope for?”
“That was a joke, wasn’t it? I ask, you know, because I wasn’t aware it was possible for a Sitanese to have a sense of humor.”
A few of the men hid smiles, which Rian ignored. Rastim was keeping everyone’s spirits up, and though Rian hated to admit it, Rastim’s comments were funny. They started to work their way around the building and found the doorway on the far side. It was square and large enough for a river cargo crane. All the doorways had been large; it made Rian wonder if what had lived here had been people after all.
The interior was dark and they had to pause and light the lamp before going any farther. As the temple servant who carried it held it up, they saw that this chamber was filled with rubble too, but something had made it all fall to one side of the structure, so it made a rough ramp against one wall. Rian squinted, trying to see if the opening to the bridge was reachable. He could see it wasn’t blocked by debris; there was a faint daylight glow coming through it.
“What did that?” one of the men asked, puzzled by the odd pattern of the debris. “The rest of the floor is clean, as if it’s been swept.”
Rian took the lamp and lifted it, seeing the man was right. He shook his head. More mysteries. He handed the lamp back and said, “Wait here. I’m going to see if I can get up to that bridge.”
The Koshan monk, whose name was Aren, stepped forward. “I’ll go also.”
“Me, too,” Rastim said firmly.
Rian didn’t argue with him. Rastim had a need to prove his bravery, and Rian was willing to let the Ariaden do it.
They started to climb, Rastim scrambling agilely along. Occasionally their progress dislodged rocks or fragments that rolled down on the men watching below. Rian heard exclamations as they dodged out of the way. About halfway up, he felt a strong breeze from the bridge opening.
They reached the top of the pile and Rian saw the square door was just within reach. It was nothing more than a short tunnel through the wall of the building, then it opened up into the bridge.
As the tallest, it was easy for Rian to reach the opening, haul himself up, then help Aren, who turned back to give Rastim a hand. Rian went forward cautiously to the end of the tunnel and paused at the mouth.
The bridge was a slab of stone about twenty feet wide with a low balustrade, only a foot or so high. It stretched out to the pillar, but strangely there didn’t appear to be a door on the other end. The view was just as incredible as Rian expected, and the city now lay before them.
He walked out on the bridge, mindful of the gusty wind, but it didn’t feel strong enough to knock him off. Aren and Rastim followed carefully. Rian stopped at about the middle.
From this angle he could see round buildings, each like a giant bowl of dark gray pottery set bottom-up. They stood in a line on the outskirts as if forming a boundary to the rest of the city. Fortresses? he thought, trying to puzzle it out. He supposed archers could fire on approaching troops through the small windows if they had to, but it wasn’t practical. Maybe that was just the way these people put their cities together. Maybe the Kushorit cities with their straight lines and canals and avenues would appear just as baffling to them. If those cities were still there, Rian reminded himself. Bastards.
Aren grabbed his arm suddenly and pointed. “There.”
Rian looked. The man was pointing at the domed building with the horn-shaped spires. There was a broad avenue leading away from it toward the west, the only approach to it Rian could see. He started to ask the monk if he thought the structure was some sort of temple, then he realized what the man was actually pointing at. There were openings high in the dome and out of one poured something that looked like a distortion in the air.
“Those things, the clouds that came to the temple last night.” Aren spoke so softly Rian could barely hear him over the wind.
And they were coming this way. “Down,” Rian snapped.
Rastim yelped and dropped like a rock, covering his head. Rian and Aren crouched down behind the low balustrade. A sound rose above the wind, a low howling tone. It grew louder and Rian and the monk exchanged a grimace. The creatures were flying right toward them.
Rian risked a look. “Another attack. Do you see it, Maskelle?” The blurring in the air grew rapidly larger as it drew closer. Heart pounding, Rian pressed himself against the low wall.
“She sees it. Surely she sees it,” Rastim muttered. He wet his lips nervously, looking around as if he hoped to see a convenient shelter spring up somewhere. “What do we do?”
“Don’t move,” Aren advised fervently.
The high, thin howl that was unpleasantly familiar from last night grew louder, but it was high overhead. Then the tone changed and it faded into the distance toward the Marai. “Maskelle, did you see it?” Rian asked again.
I saw, her voice said in his ear. I have to help the others now. I won’t be with you for a while.
“All right.” Rian got to his feet, brushing his dusty hands off on his dustier pants.
“She heard you?” Rastim asked, still cautiously huddling by the balustrade.
“Yes. She said she wouldn’t be watching us while she deals with the attack. Didn’t you hear her?” Sometimes Rastim had been able to hear Maskelle’s spirit voice, sometimes not. It seemed to unnerve him, and it might be that he was somehow unintentionally blocking it.
“Not that time.” Rastim got slowly to his feet, looking nervously toward the Marai. “The barrier will hold, won’t it?”
“It will hold,” Aren said firmly.
“If it doesn’t…” Rastim still stared bleakly at the temple.
“Rastim…” Rian threw his arms in the air in exasperation. “If it doesn’t hold, we’re all dead. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Sorry, sorry.” Rastim shook himself briskly and shouldered his pack. “Being dramatic, force of habit. Let’s go.”
“Thank you.” Rian started back down the bridge. If they came all this way and found nothing, then returned to the Marai to find nothing … At least now they had a goal.
They climbed back down, the loose stone making it far more awkward than the trip up. Once there, he told the others briefly what they had seen.
“Well?” Rian asked when he had finished. “We could go back and report to the others, or push on and look over that place ourselves. We’re so far out that if we return to the temple first, we wouldn’t be able to get back out here before dark.”
“Another day here,” one of them muttered.
Rian felt the same way. “So we push on?” There were general nods, and no grumbling or outright fear, though Rian supposed they were all as terrified as he was.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” Rastim declared as they made their way to the door. “They could turn us into those stone creatures we saw last night.”
“They looked as much like people as they looked like monkeys,” Rian objected. “That doesn’t count.” The game—which they had been playing off and on through the day—was “most horrible thing that can happen.” Rian had thought he was good at anticipating the worst, but Rastim was winning hands down. He hoped the others in their group were enjoying his defeat. He said, “All right, all right, I give up. Why don’t you tell us a play?”
Rastim took the victory in good part, launching into the plot of an elaborate kiradi play about warring noble families. Rian found himself relieved that Rastim had made the decision to come along; it would have been easy to lose all perspective out here with nothing to think about but the consequences of failure. Maybe that’s what happened to the people who built this place, he thought. They had built their palaces and stripped the world bare with the effort of it, then gone mad in the solitude, leaving only demons behind them. A nice idea, but it didn’t explain Marada, or how they had built the second Wheel.
“Damn it,” Maskelle whispered. She didn’t need the distraction.
“Maskelle?” Killia’s voice invaded her trance. “We found him.”
She opened her eyes and stood, shaking out her robes. The Ariaden and Karuda stood just inside the curtain. Maskelle said, “The flying things are coming back. We’ll have to hurry.” She had sent Killia to find Karuda, who had been directing the search for Gisar and seeing to the temple’s defenses.
Karuda stared at her. “Another attack?” he asked sharply.
“I’ll let you deal with them in a moment. I only need you to tell me one thing.” She pushed past them out into the gallery, telling Doria, “Warn the Temple Master there’s an attack coming.”
As she hurried away, Maskelle started across the court to the central tower. Karuda followed, his expression baffled. “That wasn’t why you summoned me?”
“No. I need to ask you something.” She led him under the arch into the central tower. Karuda, suddenly realizing she was leading him to the inner chamber, halted abruptly in the foyer.
Maskelle turned impatiently and he gestured at the carvings on the wall. “Are you sure—”
“Come on,” she snapped.
Just inside, Vigar waited. The other Voices were arrayed around the Wheel of the Infinite in meditation positions, their concentration and the soft, low murmur of their chant forming a second barrier around the Wheel. The final repair had been completed on the Rite late last night, and since then it waited only for the destruction of their enemies’ Wheel before it could be initiated.
Maskelle met Vigar’s skeptical gaze as she stepped aside and motioned for Karuda to enter the chamber. She had only had a few moments to tell Vigar her theory, impatient as she was to get back to Rian and Rastim. Vigar had thought she was wrong. Not the first time for that, she thought.
Karuda stopped again, this time struck by the effect that the Wheel had even on those not well attuned to the Infinite. Maskelle looked closely at him and what she saw on his face made her heart clench. The Wheel of the Infinite wasn’t kept deliberately concealed, but its fragility meant that few besides the Voices and the others attached to the Marai ever saw it.
Karuda’s expression in the candlelight was more startled than awed.
Certain she was right, Maskelle took his arm and drew him nearer, past Vigar, almost to the edge of the invisible barrier formed by the other Voices. She remembered Rian saying that they should discover who had chosen that house for Marada, so advantageously placed near the canal that formed the direct line between the Baran Dir and the Marai. She had assumed it had been Raith. One wrong assumption that had led to disaster. “Have you ever seen the like of this before?” she asked.
Karuda nodded. Vigar hissed under his breath in shock and deep anger. His eyes met Maskelle’s and she knew the chief Voice was her ally in this, whatever came next. Maskelle looked at Karuda again and asked quietly, “Where?”
By the time they reached the avenue that led up to the horned building, the sky was starting to take on that tinge of dark purple that had marked the arrival of dusk yesterday.
They had taken pains not to be seen approaching their target, using some square-walled structures that were mostly rubble as cover. Rian leaned around the last corner for a cautious look ahead.
The avenue was about as wide as one of the Kushorit processionals, and was lined with tall, imposing structures with many balconies and galleries on their upper levels. There was a huge doorway in the bottom of the horned building, large enough for an animate manifestation of one of the giant Kushorit statues to comfortably stroll through, but Rian didn’t want to approach it so directly. They would have to work their way down behind this row of structures and come at it from a side or back entrance.
Their path had taken them at an angle back toward the Marai, so they wouldn’t have as long a return trip if they went straight there. And considering what might be in that building, they would all probably be running as fast as they could.
Rian glanced around at the others. Rastim looked weary and a little white around the eyes and the others appeared exhausted as well, all except Aren, but then Koshan monks were as hard as nails. Rian was too accustomed to long days of travel or hunting to be very tired, but walking on the unyielding stone for so long had made his feet hurt.
He moved back to where the others waited and motioned them to follow. They made their way down behind the row and finally to a round structure that flanked the horned building. The wind whipped around the curving wall, blowing dust into Rian’s eyes. Rian winced away. Rastim coughed and scrubbed at his face with his sleeve.
As they cleared the wall, Rian saw the side of the horned building was badly damaged. There was a great crack in the dark stone that had torn an opening at street level. It looked as if it had been struck by lightning, or a siege engine.
The opening was almost choked with rubble, but there was just enough room to scramble through. Rian led the way inside, moving carefully to keep from dislodging any loose stone. He paused as his eyes adapted to the dark. Then he froze, a cold prickle creeping up his spine.
At the far end of the ruined chamber was a doorway into a long corridor, leading straight ahead into the depths of the structure. Along its walls were a series of bowl-shaped lamps with flames burning in their center. “I think we found the right place,” someone muttered from behind him.
There was a general murmur of agreement. “I want a look down that corridor,” Rian said. “Then we’ll take the word back to the others.”
“Good,” Rastim said under his breath.
They started to work their way across the ruined chamber. A low, mournful howl echoed from somewhere. It sounded like wind moaning through a cavern, but here there was no telling. I hope it’s the wind, Rian thought, taking a deep breath.
“I’m going to write a play about this,” Rastim declared, in a whisper.
From his tone Rian could tell he had heard the sound, too. But he only said, “Good for you. Are you going to include the part where you almost wet yourself when the flying creatures went by overhead?”
Rastim snorted. “What do you mean ‘almost’?”
Someone snorted and Rian bit his lip to keep from laughing. They were keeping their voices low from instinct; he didn’t think anything would be able to hear them over the hiss of the dust against the stone.
“Is she back yet?” Rastim asked, serious now. “I haven’t heard her.”
“I haven’t, either,” Rian admitted. He didn’t know who he was more worried about, them or Maskelle and the others back at the temple.
“I hope it’s nothing…” Rastim began, then shrugged. “I suppose we’ll find out later. It can’t be too important to us right now.”
Then somewhere across the chamber Rian heard the distinct sound of a foot knocking against a loose stone.
One of the flying things wouldn’t make that kind of noise.
Rastim bounced agitatedly and Rian waved him and the others back behind a pile of rubble. Rian waited until the quiet scrape of their footsteps faded, then started to advance cautiously toward the sound.
Rian heard that whisper again, something shuffling against the gritty stone. This time he could tell the direction. He glanced back to see the others watching him alertly from the cover of the pile of rubble. Rian motioned for them to stay where they were. He looked at Rastim to make sure the Ariaden was paying attention, then gestured for him to head across the room, toward the outer door.
Rastim nodded sharply, then stood and moved briskly toward the door. Their opponent took the bait and stepped out of the corridor to level a crossbow at Rastim. It’s a man, Rian had time to realize, just like us. He threw himself forward and the man sensed him at the last instant. He turned and swung the heavy wooden weapon around to strike Rian in the shoulder.
Rian was knocked sideways by the blow but managed to grab his opponent’s clothing on the way down. The man fell on him and Rian tore the bow away. Then slammed his opponent in the head with the stock. As the others rushed to help, Rastim bounced around, bori club upraised, shouting, “Get him, get him!”
Rian rolled off the man and came to his feet, handing one of the guards the crossbow. When the attacker staggered to his feet, he was facing Rian’s siri.
He stared at them, panting. He looked Kushorit, even as Marada had, and he was dressed in trousers, an open vest, and sandals that wouldn’t have gotten a second glance on any street in Duvalpore.
“Who are you?” Rastim demanded.
Idoru, the Palace Guardsman, gaped with surprise. He said, “That’s Vanthi. He’s with Chancellor Mirak’s party.”
The man grimaced in contempt and looked away.
“He’s one of them,” Rian said. In Mirak’s party. Oh, he had a bad feeling about this. “Taken over by Marada, like her servants.”
That name got his attention. The man glared at them, eyes narrowed. “You killed her, but your tricks won’t stop us,” he said, his voice low and grating.
“We’ve got more tricks in our bag than we know what to do with,” Rastim said archly, “so you just better talk while you can.”
Whatever that meant, Rian thought. “Tell us where the Wheel is. It’s nearby, or you wouldn’t have bothered to try to stop us.”
A sudden howl of wind nearly burst their eardrums. Rian flinched and the others ducked and scattered. The man used the instant of distraction and charged. He bowled Rian over, but Rian threw him off and rolled away, coming to his feet again. Ducking a wild blow, Rian stabbed the man in the stomach, freeing the weapon with a jerk that turned the thrust into a disemboweling stroke.
He didn’t bother to watch the man fall, his attention caught by the wind rushing into the chamber, its force almost enough to knock him off his feet. The whirlwinds must be returning. Outside the crack in the wall, the air was solid with dust. They couldn’t get out the way they had come in. Farther into the building was their only chance.
Rastim had already come to that conclusion and was pulling at his arm. They bolted through the archway into the corridor. They ran down the lamplit passage and every inch of Rian’s skin itched with wrongness. This was not a place for people like them.
After what felt like forever, they came to an intersection with another, larger hall. It was unlit, darkly shadowed, but Rian saw fading daylight at the far end, right where the outer door should be. “That way.” He pointed and there were cries of relief from the others. They started toward the light at a run, then Rastim grabbed Rian’s arm.
“Look, that light,” Rastim said, wondering. “That must be something.”
Rian looked at the opposite end of the corridor. It was a strange murky light, not daylight, not flickering like firelight at all. Whirlwinds or not, Rian realized, they had to investigate it.
Rastim yelled something incoherent, pointed back down the lamplit corridor.
Rian turned. A miniature whirlwind was coming down the corridor toward them. It was gray-white with dust, swirling with a strange white mist, pebbles, and other debris trapped within it scraping and striking the walls. “Run!” he shouted to the others just as it surged forward, cutting him and Rastim off from the hall that led outside.
Rastim bolted the other way. Rian turned, but the thing was too fast, and before he took a step he felt a freezing cold on the back of his neck. A force struck him from behind, shoving him forward into the wall with a stunning impact. He remembered sliding down to the corridor floor, then nothing.