Chapter 11

 

 

Innowen paced through his apartment, a kylix of wine in one hand, a piece of untasted cheese in the other. He tingled all over with unspent energy. His breathing was rapid, his voice high-pitched as he talked incessantly.

"I finally figured it out!" he explained, waving his bit of cheese, crossing out onto the terrace, coming back inside. "The longer we talked, the more I realized it. She doesn't have any dark desires!" He drank deeply from his wine, then wiped a hand over the corners of his lips. "There's no one she hates, nothing she seems to want. And Kyrin has practically isolated her in this palace. She doesn't know about the drought or its effect on the countryside. She doesn't know about any rebel armies. Gods, Rascal, she didn't even know about the siege, and that was right outside the city walls!"

"You danced for her?" Razkili said again from the center of the room. He hadn't moved from the spot since Innowen returned.

From the threshold of his bedchamber Innowen answered, "Yes, it was great! It didn't have any effect on her at all!" He gripped Razkili's arm and squeezed it as he crossed to the terrace threshold, looked out, then turned back inside. "I finally had an audience that could appreciate what I do, Rascal. I finally danced for somebody who could understand, even admire, the dance for the beauty of its movement." He took another drink of wine and swallowed with a gulp. "I performed! And I didn't have to worry about hurting anybody."

"That's why Kyrin cut out the servants' tongues."

Innowen stretched out on one of the couches as he tossed his piece of cheese into the garden below. "What's that?" he said, folding his arms under his head.

"That's why Kyrin cut out the tongues of the servants," he repeated. "He didn't want to take a chance one of them might tell his precious daughter about all the misery and hunger in her land, or about all the murders and burned villages. How do you think she'd feel if she knew about that woman with her guts spilled in the road at Chalandri? Or if she'd seen any of those half-rotted corpses? And what do you think she'd do if she knew half of Ispor was fighting for the chance to deball her dear father because he's such an asshole of a king?"

Innowen sat up and stared. "No, you're wrong."

Razkili glared at him. "The hells I am! The slaves can't talk. No soldiers are allowed inside the palace—they might let something slip. She's kept under guard night and day by a nurse and isolated in some private part of the palace. Hell, Innowen, she admitted she had to sneak out to see you because her father gave orders against it!"

Innowen leaped to his feet, spilling what remained of his wine. Disgusted, he threw the cup down. It exploded in a shower of ceramic fragments. "You're blaming Dyan because some slaves had their tongues ripped out? That's not her fault!" He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the jamb. "Why don't you just admit you're jealous because I danced for her?"

Razkili's eyes narrowed to angry slits. He looked down at the broken cup and back at Innowen.

"I'm a dancer!" Innowen shouted. "So magic has something to do with it. I still dance! I still create! Well, what good is it to create something if nobody can appreciate it?"

Razkili curled his fists in exasperation. "What is wrong with you?" He stared at his friend, then let out a slow breath. "Can't you see the sickness that pervades this place? The rot eating its way from the inside out? Look at you!" He stormed across the apartment, kicking a pottery shard out of his way as he positioned himself face to face with Innowen. "When did you last give a thought to Vashni? You searched for him for five years, Innowen, five years! Now you come home and find him right outside the gates of your own capitol city. Well, what have you done about it? What are you going to do? If he's here, where's the Witch of Shanalane? Remember her?"

"Remember her?" Innowen answered bitterly. He squeezed past Razkili and retreated to the center of the room. "She made me what I am, gods damn her!"

Razkili followed him relentlessly. "That's just noise out of your mouth, Innowen. You made you what you are.

Innowen slammed his fist against a wall. "And what is that, Rascal? Just what am I? What am I?"

They stared at each other across the apartment. Neither moved, and the silence stood between them suddenly like a barrier. In that moment, Innowen heard his own plaintive tones, saw all his weakness, all his petty fear and selfishness, and he burned with shame. He wanted to reach out across that silence to Rascal, to touch him and apologize, to be reassured. It should have been easy to make the first move. And yet he couldn't. Instead, he stood and waited and wished that something would happen.

Far away, the dull boom of distant thunder sounded. Razkili blinked, turned away, and walked sadly out to the terrace and gazed up into the sky where the faintest trace of blue overtook the night.

"Innowen!" he shouted suddenly. "Come here, quick!"

Innowen hurried to his side, hoping for forgiveness. His eyes followed where Razkili pointed, and he knew this had nothing to do with their argument. Several lights burned in the windows of the eastern apartments. "Whose rooms are those?" Razkili said urgently.

"Kyrin's," Innowen answered, puzzled. "He has the entire upper level."

"I saw a shadow," Razkili whispered, staring intently, "with a sword."

They watched together. Suddenly a dark form slithered past another window, eclipsing the lamplight. A length of metal gleamed in its hand.

Razkili squeezed Innowen's arm, then took off around the terrace, leaving Innowen behind. Outside a darkened apartment, he leaped a couch someone had left outside and swerved around another obstacle. He disappeared in the gloom for an instant, then reappeared, running hard, making for Kyrin's quarters.

Again, thunder rolled across the night, closer this time. Innowen looked up and frowned. The sky was clear, not a cloud. A few stars twinkled brightly, and in the east... He swallowed hard. Morning was almost upon him.

Yet Razkili was running toward trouble.

He didn't know exactly what, but Innowen felt some sudden danger. That shadow, yes—it moved with deliberate menace. But something more rode the night air, some dark radiance that touched him inexplicably and tingled on his skin. He looked at the sky again where a softening cobalt glow oozed over the rooftop, gave a little cry of desperation, and ran after Rascal.

A high-pitched scream of terror ripped from Kyrin's apartment. Against the lamplight, two silhouettes wrestled suddenly over a blade. Innowen recognized Rascal by the shape of his body and ran faster, his heart pounding as loudly in his ears as the thunder that began to shake the palace stones.

He dashed inside, colliding with another figure that lurched out of the way of the combatants. Starpoints ignited in Innowen's head as he hit the floor. Kyrin's face floated before him as he fought to untangle himself from the heavier, panting man. The smell of urine clung to Kyrin, and he clawed and rolled on top of Innowen, frantic and screaming, and Innowen couldn't tell if his king was trying to kill him or trying to get away. He looked for Rascal, but Kyrin's fingers were in his eyes.

"Get off me, gods damn you!" He smashed his fist against Kyrin's jaw and twisted out from under him. Razkili and the assassin struggled in the far corner of the room. Innowen still couldn't see the man's face. A short bronze sword waved over both their heads, and Razkili had the man's wrist locked in both of his hands. Again and again he brought his knee up sharply into the attacker's side, but with little effect. The bigger man had him pressed to the wall, and growling, he tried to bite Razkili's throat.

Innowen leaped up. With all his might, he threw a punch at the lower curve of the assassin's spine. The man threw back his head and howled in pain, and from behind, Innowen grabbed the soft throat and dragged him backward and down to the floor. Razkili wasted no time and jumped with both feet on the assassin's sword arm. There came a loud crack of breaking bone and a shrill scream.

"Kill him! Kill him!" Kyrin shouted, scrambling to his feet. He ran at the fallen man and dealt him a vicious kick in the ribs before Razkili pushed him back. "He tried to kill me! He dared! My own advisor!"

It was Riloosa. He moaned and cradled his arm and struggled to get up, but Innowen took a tighter one-handed grip on the bigger man's throat and dragged his head back even further. Riloosa's weight nearly crushed the breath from him, and sandaled heels drummed against his shins. Innowen dug his fingers deeper into the soft flesh and tangled his other hand in the man's thinning hair. "Stop it!" he hissed savagely. "Stop it, or I'll rip your damned throat out!"

A sound gurgled incoherently in Riloosa's windpipe, and he ceased to struggle. For an instant, Innowen thought he'd inadvertently strangled his captive, but then Riloosa shifted his broken limb and gave another moan.

"Get him to his feet," Razkili said grimly, holding Kyrin at bay with one hand.

"I can't," Innowen answered calmly. Then he smiled. A strange satisfaction surged through him, along with a renewed sense of self-worth. "It's morning."

Razkili bent down and grabbed Riloosa's tunic. "Get off him!" His face twisted with rage and concern for Innowen as he jerked the advisor to his feet. Riloosa screamed again with pain and doubled over, hugging his arm. Kyrin leaped at his would-be killer, but Razkili caught him up short. "Go call your guards!" he dared to order Ispor's king.

Kyrin glared hatefully. "There aren't any guards! Note in the palace!"

Rascal glared back, raising his voice to match Kyrin's anger. "Then call your slaves, and have them call guards from the palace grounds!"

For a moment, Kyrin looked as if he'd try to hit Razkili, but a blast of thunder unexpectedly rattled the room. Fear danced over the king's features until he realized it was only thunder. He managed to achieve a semblance of composure and went to summon his servants.

Razkili knelt by Innowen. "When?" he asked simply.

"Right after I grabbed him," Innowen answered, grinning. "You thought it was a perfect take-down? Well, it might have been, but dawn and gravity took over."

"And you still held on to him."

The admiration in his friend's voice pushed him to laughter. He sagged back onto the cool floor, grabbed his stomach and shook with mirth. It felt good. He felt good. It was the first morning he could remember when the life had gone from his legs and he hadn't given in to a moment of sadness and self-pity. Hells, this time he hadn't even noticed.

Rascal touched his hand. Warmth radiated in that touch, and Innowen drew strength from it, with the reassurance he had hoped for. "Are you all right?" Razkili asked worriedly. Innowen met his gaze, quieted for an instant, then burst into another bout of body-wracking laughter.

Razkili stared, dumbfounded, then grinned and let go a loud guffaw himself. "What a noise, Innocent!" he said in mocking accusation. "You sound worse than the storm!"

As if to make the point, thunder struck again. The vibrations shivered through the floor and the walls. A rhyton trembled on a narrow pedestal in the corner but managed not to fall. Beyond the terrace, a bolt of lightning flashed, and a sudden rain roared on the leaves in the garden.

"What's wrong with him?" Riloosa snarled, backing against a wall for support. His face was pale, drenched in a fine sweat. "Why doesn't he get up?"

"He can't," Razkili explained, and Innowen laughed harder. "He's crippled. And if you try to pick up that sword, you will be, too." He nodded toward Riloosa's blade where it lay a hand's breath from its owner's foot.

Riloosa pretended to ignore the threat. "What kind of a deception do you play at?" he spat. "He ran in here, didn't he? I saw him at the banquet, visited him in his quarters. I watched him dance the other night in the garden."

Innowen felt the laughter in him dry up. He pushed himself onto one elbow, looked from Razkili to Riloosa.

"Get up!" Riloosa urged. "We can still get out of here while Kyrin's gone. I can make you wealthy men!"

A familiar burning gleamed in the adviser's eyes, a fire Innowen had seen before, a light that was no light at all, but the pure darkness of irresistible compulsion. Riloosa's apartments also overlooked the garden. Innowen had made the mistake of assuming since all the windows were black that nobody had been awake to see him. But Riloosa had seen.

He looked at the man with a new kind of respect. Riloosa hadn't tried to fulfill his desire at once, but had resisted it or delayed his action long enough to plan. Innowen had learned the hard way that most men succumbed immediately, no matter the nature of their desire, while a few others, depending on their strength of will, were able to defy the compulsion for a time. Sooner or later, though, all surrendered to their worst wishes.

"Did you want his crown?" he asked softly.

Riloosa harrumphed. "Hells, no," he retorted. The madness seemed to flow out of him. He sighed and sank to the floor. Razkili tensed and started to move, but the advisor put on a faint smile and pushed the sword to the center of the room with his toe. "Only a fool would want to rule this gods-cursed country. I just wanted to kill the pig. His rudeness is intolerable. He insults and abuses everybody. At dinner last night he stabbed a slave because the wine wasn't cool enough." He barked a short, bitter laugh. "Cool enough, in these temperatures!" He gestured with his good arm toward the terrace. "Look, it's finally raining. I think Heaven must have approved of my effort."

The world flashed a violent blue-white. The hairs on Innowen's neck and arms stood suddenly straight on end, and his bones seemed to tingle and burn. A deafening crash split the air, followed by another crash of splintering stone. The smell of burning filled the room.

Razkili leaped to his feet and ran to the terrace. "Lightning!" he called. "It blasted away part of the southern wing!" He shot a glance back at Riloosa. "So much for heaven's approval. That was your apartment."

Without warning, lightning struck again. Razkili cried out, threw an arm across his eyes and flung himself away from the terrace. A belch of flame shot up just beyond the doorway, and a loud crack echoed in the garden as a tree split in half.

"Rascal!" Innowen screamed, and he dragged himself across the floor toward his friend.

"I'm all right," Razkili said, sitting up slowly. He gazed around, blinking, rubbing his eyes.

On his belly, Innowen stared outside. The sky was the color of flint. A gray rain beat down in heavy relentless sheets as blue lightning licked at the world. Thunder surged overhead, pounding and smashing like an impossible surf.

Innowen felt the trembling in the stones beneath him, and the palace huddled into itself with a palpable, animate fear. In the corner, the rhyton fell off its pedestal and shattered. In another corner, a small chair vibrated toward the center of the room.

A distant swelling lamentation rose songlike under the storm, a terrible harmony of tiny screams and wails that beat over the palace gates, into the garden and hallways, frightened, fluttering voices without form or hope. The people of Parendur cried out to their gods and each other, and their shouts became a chorus of despair.

"It's the end of the world," Riloosa whispered, huddling down beside them. He stared outward, his face rapt with awe, cradling his arm and shivering visibly.

A sudden wind shift blew rain over the terrace, drenching them.

"Innocent!"

Taelyn and six of his soldiers rushed into the room. Riloosa shrieked, and his eyes snapped wide with pain as two of them grabbed him and hauled him roughly to his feet.

"I need you!" Taelyn shouted over a thunderclap as two more men pulled Innowen up and settled him piggy-back style on another soldier's back. "The city's under attack, and we've got to get out of here. Minarik and Kyrin and our troops are ready to break out, but you've got to do something first!"

"Dyan!" Innowen shouted back as the storm attempted to drown his voice. "What about Dyan!"

"She's safe!" Taelyn answered. Then, to his soldiers, "Get him to the gate! Fast! We've got to know! Move!"

But Innowen was not ready to go. "What do you mean, we're being attacked? By whom?"

Taelyn didn't wait to answer, and Innowen barely had time to glance at Razkili.

They ran through the palace corridors, down unfamiliar hallways, down a flight of stairs and into a small courtyard where horses were waiting. "I can't ride!" Innowen called, blinking into the rain that slashed at his eyes. He wiped uselessly at his face. "Put me up with Rascal!"

Lightning made a deadly webwork in the sky as they raced down the hill from the palace and into Parendur's mud-slick streets. Rubble strewed their course, the wreckage of stone and wattle homes that the storm had collapsed. People packed the roads, clutching children and small bundles of belongings. The tallest buildings creaked and swayed treacherously as the sharp wind lashed the city.

The world flashed white and purple as yet another bolt shot earthward. Stone exploded, and the air rumbled with the force.

"The wall!" Innowen shouted in Razkili's ear. "That hit the wall!"

But the wall was clearly their destination. Jaelyn's men pushed the crowds out of their path, using the butts of their spears and the size of their horses to make a way. The citizens were more afraid of the storm than of the soldiers and only responded with curses until they looked up and recognized Taelyn, their hero, who had saved the city only days before. He took the lead, riding without speaking a word, and his mere presence parted the obstructing throng.

They arrived at a guard station at the base of the wall and dismounted. Razkili carried Innowen in his arms and hurried up a narrow staircase as Taelyn beckoned them. At the top of the wall, Taelyn pointed outward. "Down there," he said, shouting over the wind, "is that your man?"

Innowen wiped water from his eyes as he bit his lip. A vast army stretched outward over the plain before the main gate. Naked flesh glistened in the rain, bronze spearpoints and swords gleamed with lightning-flash. With every strike of lightning, a great cry went up from the army. They raised their weapons and sent their voices soaring with the thunder as Parendur trembled.

At their head, on a huge black horse, sat Vashni.

"That's him," he answered grimly, "the Witch's man!"

Razkili spoke up. "Watch what they're doing," he said. "Every time the lightning strikes, they point their weapons at the gate and give a shout."

Rascal was right, and Innowen clenched a fist. Suddenly, he remembered his first meeting with the Witch of Shanalane. She'd used a storm to cloak her passage through Minarik's lands, used wind and lightning to smash his house. She'd boasted of her control over it, and of a power so great that, though the storm swept the forest nearly flat, not a drop of rain touched her.

"They're trying to bring down the gate!" Innowen exclaimed. His heart beat faster with the realization that the Witch of Shanalane was near. "This is her doing! She can call the storms!"

"Then where is she?" Taelyn called. The rain had beaten his hair into thick ropes, and the wind whipped them so they writhed like serpents from his head.

"I don't know," Innowen answered shrilly. "I don't see her. She could still be in the mountains, or maybe further out on the plain! But she's here. I feel her!"

"If she breaches the gate, there aren't enough troops in the city to resist that army," Razkili pointed out.

"I know," Taelyn snapped angrily. "Blast Kyrin for a fool. Too busy sending our armies after the little rebels. Never considered a big one might come knocking on the gods-damned door!" He headed back down the staircase where his men waited. "Should tie his ass to a post and leave him for the Witch," he said over his shoulder, "but Minarik would never let me have such fun. Let's get to the garrison fast."

Rascal carried him down the stairs. As soon as they were mounted again, they raced through the city. The air crackled and sizzled with electric fire, and the streets shook with explosions. Flames shot up, defying the rain, casting a weird flickering glow against the low clouds.

The garrison was a walled compound within Parendur. Seeing them approach, a pair of guards pushed wide one of the great doors, and they rode inside. Minarik stood in the center of the yard, drenched, yet somehow proud and powerful in his sodden cloak. "How bad?" he said to Taelyn as his commander dismounted.

"Bad," Taelyn answered curtly. "Innocent says it's the Witch. He's sure it's her man, Vashni, at their head. Bulk of the force is at the main gate, but all gates are covered. We want out, then we fight out."

Innowen's jaw dropped, then snapped shut. "You haven't got enough men! You can't engage them!"

Minarik ignored him. "Get everyone who can ride mounted," he instructed Taelyn. "Leave the wounded behind. We won't be able to take care of them. Do it quick, and assemble them here."

"Veydon comes," Razkili said.

Minarik gave him a cold look. "He's wounded. He stays."

"He comes." Razkili handed the reins to Innowen, made sure he was balanced, then slid off the horse's rump to the ground. Innowen quietly tangled his hands in the mane for a more secure grip as the Osiri strode up to Minarik. The two locked gazes for just a moment, a strange test of wills that Razkili seemed to win with ease. He turned to Taelyn. "Where is he?"

Taelyn pointed to a long, low building a short distance across the yard.

"Arrange another horse," he said. "I'll look after Innowen and Veydon both."

Minarik scowled with displeasure. "Just do it fast," he told his former slave. "And have that compound gate sealed and barred now."

"What do we do about him?" Taelyn asked, nodding toward Riloosa, who sat sullenly upon his horse between two soldiers.

"Let Kyrin decide." He spun about, nearly slipping in the mud, but recovered with his dignity intact and marched into a building directly behind him while Taelyn hurried to carry out his orders.

Innowen waited miserably in the rain, perched precariously upon the horse, afraid of falling. If only he'd had time to grab a cloak. His kilt was soaked. The cold rain rilled through his hair, down his chest and back and arms and legs. It filled his ears and stung his eyes. Throughout the compound, soldiers began to scurry, half armored, leading mounts. The great doors slammed closed, causing Innowen to twist around in time to see a huge wooden beam slide into place, guided by four large men.

That caused him to wonder. How are we supposed to get out?

A handful of soldiers pulled their mounts up beside Innowen, greeting him with simple nods. He recognized them as Taelyn's men and returned their greeting in kind. Others began to join them, their expressions grim. No one spoke, as if the storm had drenched their spirits as well as their bodies.

A bright flash caused him to shield his eyes. When he took his hand away, Razkili emerged into the yard with Veydon. The young soldier's back and chest were swathed in white cloth, and he walked with one arm around Razkili, but he managed a grin when he saw Innowen. "Nice day," he said, then added, "for a fish."

A soldier arrived with four horses. Razkili helped Veydon to mount one of them, then climbed up carefully behind Innowen again. His arms slid around Innowen's waist as he took back the reins, and he gave a hug. "All right?" he whispered in Innowen's ear, and Innowen nodded. To Veydon, he asked the same question.

"Wet, cold, wounded, and facing a host of thousands." A broad smile cloaked the younger man's discomfort. "It's my kind of party."

"Sure," Razkili said sardonically. "The gods are smiling on us all."

"You mean laughing at us," Innowen corrected.

Taelyn rode up beside them. "I scavenged these," he said, passing swords to Razkili and Veydon.

"What about me?" Innowen said.

Taelyn stared for a moment, then pursed his lips. "I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd be able to..."

"Only my legs are crippled, sir," he snapped in annoyance. "My arms are just fine, and I can use that as well as you." He twisted around to the nearest soldier. The man carried a lance, so Innowen pointed to the blade at his hip. "Give me that," he demanded.

The soldier frowned and looked to his commander.

Lightning snaked through the sky with a hiss and crackle. A blast of thunder followed. Innowen clapped hands to his ears as a dwelling at the farthest end of the compound collapsed unexpectedly. A sharp scream issued from the ruins, and soldiers hurried to drag the occupant free. It was only a corpse they found, though.

"You can't take another man's sword, Innocent," Taelyn chided. "His life might depend on his weapon. I'll give you mine."

Innowen clenched his teeth and sighed. "No, damn it," he said sharply. "But next time, don't think so little of me. I'm capable of more than you know."

Minarik emerged into the yard with Kyrin and Dyan. Thick cloaks protected them from the rain, and they hurried to claim their horses. Ispor's king assisted his daughter to mount, and she steered her beast to Innowen's side.

"Hello," she said shyly.

"Get away from him!" Kyrin's face purpled with rage as he grabbed Dyan's reins and pulled her horse away. "He's abathakati!" He shot a hateful look at Innowen as he spat out the ancient word.

Innowen recoiled with shock and surprise. "That's not true," he insisted.

But Kyrin hissed again, shaking his fist. "Abathakati!"

Minarik steered his horse between his adopted son and his king. "What about Riloosa?" he said. "What shall we do with him?"

Kyrin glared at his Syraean advisor. ''He comes with us. I have plans for my sweet, treacherous Riloosa." He looked back at Minarik. "Now open the wall, Uncle, and get us out of this damned rain." He wiped water from his face and climbed upon his horse. "At this rate we'll drown before the invaders break into the city."

"Open the wall?" Razkili whispered in Innowen's ear. Innowen could only shrug. He had no idea what Kyrin meant. His thoughts still dwelled on the king's accusation. Abathakati. He repeated the word silently over and over. It couldn't be true, it couldn't.

The remnants of Taelyn's Second Army, complemented by Kyrin's First, which made up the city's garrison force, had crowded into the compound's yard. Overhead, a violent display of electric fire seared through the clouds, and the ground gave a strange, ominous shudder. The horses began to whinny and stamp, and soldiers shot uncertain looks at one another as they gripped their weapons. A frightened muttering rose in the ranks.

Minarik rode between two buildings to a section of the wall |where four soldiers waited. They were huge men, Innowen saw, raw with muscle and rippling strength, and their young faces were grim. Minarik spoke to them only briefly, then they lined up shoulder to shoulder and faced the wall. They set their hands upon the rough stone. The muscles in their backs bulged suddenly with strain and effort. Four pairs of sandaled feet slipped, dug, and somehow found purchase in the mud.

There came a sound of grinding stone. A crack appeared in the wall. The four redoubled their efforts, and as one they gave a loud groan and pushed. It was no crack at all, but a doorway. The wall was hollow! Three more soldiers jumped down from their mounts and ran to lend their hands to the task. More tried to follow, but Minarik stopped them. A section of the wall gave inward like a single block, yielding an opening high enough for a mounted man and wide enough to admit a wagon or supply cart.

"Can there be room in there for all of us?" Razkili wondered aloud as Minarik and two of his strongmen disappeared inside.

Veydon sat stiffly on his horse, trying to hide his pain. "I'll bet the entire city wall is hollow. We could hide in there for a long time, then sweep out and catch the invaders unaware while they sleep in our beds."

Within the dark opening, a light flared, then another. Minarik emerged bearing a torch in one hand. He beckoned with the other, and Kyrin rode forward, still gripping the reins of his daughter's horse, leading her close beside him. Taelyn, conferring in private with two of his officers, waved everyone else ahead.

There was plenty of headroom, but Innowen ducked instinctively as they rode inside. A supply of dry torches stood stacked just beyond the entrance, and one of the strongmen passed a torch to Innowen and ignited it from his own burning brand. The old, oil-soaked cloth sputtered and sparked and finally caught fire. Innowen welcomed the bright orange light, but not the foul-smelling smoke the flames gave off.

Farther and farther they rode into the dank space as more men poured in behind them. Innowen decided that Veydon had been right, that the entire wall was indeed hollow. Here and there, they passed pairs of wooden tracks that smelled of aged grease. At each pair, iron rings had been driven into the wall, and coils of thick ropes had been stacked nearby. Portals, he was sure, like the one they had entered. But these led to the outside.

A dry, powdery dust rose from beneath the horses' hooves. A fit of coughing racked Veydon. "I think I preferred the rain," he said, covering his mouth as he coughed again.

"Silence that!" someone shouted with a voice of authority. "No talking, no noise!"

At last they stopped. Then, astride their mounts they waited. And waited. The dust, at least, settled, but the sweat of men and beasts permeated the air. Despite the order for silence, the soldiers began to mumble among themselves. Innowen glanced at Dyan, and she smiled. Even in the faint torchlight, her eyes sparkled. But at her side, Kyrin noticed, caught her wrist and jerked her around. He whispered harshly in her ear, something that Innowen couldn't understand. She looked contrite and hung her head, but from the lowered corner of her eye, she still looked at him.

Razkili squeezed his shoulder. "What did he mean," he said softly, "abathakati?"

Innowen thought and chewed his lip. "It's complex," he answered slowly. "A priestly concept. Some believe that anyone who practices magic, or is touched by it, becomes corrupted, incapable of a moral judgment. They are abathakati, unable to choose between right and wrong, or even to recognize the difference."

"You're cold," Razkili whispered, and he wrapped his arms more securely about his friend.

A shout from back down the tunnel caught their attention. Taelyn crowded his way past his men to the head of the line. "They've breached the gate," he told Kyrin and Minarik. "Parendur is theirs, and nothing we can do."

"Then we make a run for Whisperstone," Minarik decided, "Nothing can breach that keep." He twisted around and cast a glance back down the crowded tunnel. "Choose two teams of five men. One team rides east to search for any remnants of the Third Army. Send the other team among Ispor's nobility. Tell them to bring anyone they can find. We'll make our stand at Whisperstone."

"But how are we supposed to get out of here unnoticed?" Kyrin snapped. Innowen's torch made patches of ruddy light and shadow on his king's face as Kyrin turned sideways and scowled. "A force this size will attract attention!"

Taelyn stiffened. His eyes narrowed with anger and contempt. "You stupid piece of horse shit." He kept his voice low, perhaps out of consideration for Kyrin's daughter, but he glared unabashedly at his king, and his gaze was full of hatred. "Of course, you'll be noticed. But while you're on your way to Whisperstone, most of these men will stay right here to cover your ass. The invaders are in the streets now. Well, we're going to retake the gate and try to keep them inside while you get away. A lot of us are going to die doing, that."

"That's enough, Taelyn," Minarik said firmly.

For once, Taelyn spoke back sharply to his lord. "I want him to remember, Minarik. Many of these are the same men he locked outside the gates the last time they saved his ass."

Kyrin straightened his spine and lifted his head high in righteous outrage. "You've insulted me for the last time, Commander," he said loudly. "If you think so highly of the common soldier, then you will personally lead the ones who stay behind, and you will fight in their front ranks." An ugly smile turned up the corners of Kyrin's lips. "And as you go down in the dust with a blade in your gut, do so with the knowledge that you gave your life in my defense."

"Father!" Innowen exclaimed.

Before Minarik could respond, Taelyn held up a hand. "Shut up, Innocent. Any man here will tell this fool I'm always in the front ranks. I never send men where I'm unwilling to go myself. It's a matter of honor this offal knows nothing of."

"Your treasonous tongue!" Kyrin cried, shaking a fist. "You side with the rebels against me!"

"Yes, I'm against you!" Taelyn shouted back, raising his voice for the first time. He pointed to Minarik. "But I'm his man, and he supports you and protects you. Why, I'm damned if I know. He'd make twice the king you are. But as long as he tells me to save your butt, I'll bust mine to do just that. But it's because Minarik asks it of me—not out of any loyalty to you!"

Kyrin shot a look at Minarik. "Uncle, this slave...!"

Minarik turned a cold gaze on his nephew, then on Taelyn. "Enough, both of you." His tone silenced them. "Taelyn, get your teams together. There's not much chance they'll succeed, but they've got to try. Then get men on two of these doors." He pointed to the nearest set of tracks. "Fifty men go out here with us to Whisperstone. The rest, out back there at an exit closer to the gate. We'll wait until you engage and draw their attention. Then we go."

Taelyn let go a sigh. "Gods keep you, Lord," he said softly. He guided his mount back through the ranks, and his voice could be heard giving orders.

Minarik called to the soldiers closest to him. Six men dismounted and approached the wooden tracks.

Two stacks of coiled rope rested beside the tracks where they joined the wall. They quickly uncoiled them, passed them through the iron rings above each track and in teams of three, began to strain.

"Move away a little," Minarik instructed those closest, who only watched.

A huge section of the wall creaked inward. Back down the tunnel, a similar sound echoed in the gloom as men strained with a second portal.

A thin line of blackness appeared around the immense square of stone. "Wait," Minarik ordered, and he slid down from his horse. "Pass those torches farther back," he snapped, waving his hand. "Better yet, extinguish them. Darkness will be our best cloak."

Innowen gave his torch to a soldier who jumped down and rolled it in the dust. A stygian blackness flooded the tunnel, and all whispering and mumbling seemed to stop at once. He held his breath. Razkili's arm tightened around him: He could feel the Osiri's heartbeat.

The ropes snapped tight again, and someone grunted with effort. Again, the stone creaked with movement. Barely visible, Minarik peeked around the edge, then disappeared altogether.

A bright flash lit the borders of the stone, and thunder rumbled as the storm continued to rage. Dimly, another sound reached them. Screaming, Innowen realized, carnage, the sounds of terror reaching faintly over the high wall.

Minarik reappeared in the glare of another lightning blast. He wiped the rain from his face and remounted. "Open it up," he instructed the soldiers who manned the ropes, and the stone slid halfway back inside the tunnel.

Taelyn's voice came out of the darkness. Innowen hadn't seen or heard him as he approached on foot. "We're ready," he said, apparently to Minarik. "Near as we can tell, the gate's wide open and unguarded. They're too busy sacking the city, I guess, to think about their backs."

"Don't worry about their backs," Minarik told him. "Just take the gate and hold it. Keep them inside as long as you can."

Taelyn reached up to clasp his lord's hand, and Innowen imagined him grinning. "I hope they'll appreciate the switch," he said. He tapped Innowen's arm. "I'll say hello to your friend Vashni."

"Stay away from Vashni," Innowen warned, but it was too late. Taelyn was no longer there.

"I'm afraid for him," Innowen confided to Razkili, and his friend said nothing.

Minarik rode to the opening. The lightning silhouetted him as he stared outward, waiting. Back down the tunnel, men and horses began to move, and the dust rose again. The crowding lessened. A slight breeze swept through and faded.

"You've been very quiet, Veydon," Innowen said, unable to see the young soldier, but knowing he waited behind them.

A hesitation. "I should be with my commander," he said sullenly.

"We're going home," Innowen gently reminded, "to Shandisti."

Veydon didn't answer, and Innowen bit his lip. He stared toward the exit. The rear end of Minarik's horse appeared and disappeared in the lightning glow. With a start, he remembered that it was morning. He couldn't walk. Yet the sky outside was eerily dark.

"Let's go!" Minarik rode out into the rain. Kyrin trailed after him, leading Dyan's mount. Innowen, Razkili, and Veydon followed, then the rest of their escort. Now the pain of the city swelled louder over the walls, and the glow of fires gleamed on the low, black storm clouds. Far down the wall, Innowen made out the last of Taelyn's force as it rode in the opposite direction toward the gate. He wiped rain from his eyes.

At Minarik's command, they ran at full gallop toward the foothills of the Akrotir. The wind bit sharply, and the rain stung. The muddy ground splashed treacherously under the horses' hooves. Still, they rushed onward, putting distance between themselves and the city.

Then, off to the right where the plain spread before Parendur's main gate, Innowen spied a small glow. Though Rascal held him tight, he still bounced and jostled, and it was hard to see. He shielded his vision against the rain and stared. "Do you see that?" he cried.

"What?" Razkili shouted back. "See what?"

"Over there!" Innowen pointed. It was just a small glow, moving slowly. Still it sent a tingle through him. He peered, squinting. "Stop, Rascal! We've got to!"

"Forget it!" Razkili's grip tightened around his waist, nearly crushing the breath from him. "There's nothing there!"

Innowen jerked sharply on the horse's mane, but Rascal slapped his arms down and pinned them, then spurred the beast on faster. "It's her!" Innowen screamed. "It's the Witch! Stop!"

"There's nothing there!" Rascal bellowed in his ear

But he could see the glow! She used it to keep the rain off. Yes, and he could see her riding into Parendur alone to claim her prize of conquest. His vision seemed to sharpen as he stared. Darkly blond her hair, and so long, so beautiful, and those same lips like dark roses. He knew it was her!

"Minarik!" he screamed.

But Minarik couldn't hear him over the crash of the storm and the rush of the wind.